Tomorrow and Tomorrow and Tomorrow
by pumpkinpatch212
Summary: "Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow, Creeps in this petty pace from day to day" (William Shakespeare's "Macbeth") After the war, the paths of Hermione Granger and Antonin Dolohov cross. Their lives intertwine in a way neither could have ever imagined. Rating subject to change.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello! This will be my first Hermione/Antonin story. I've got most of the story planned, though if your muse is anything like mine, it changes sporadically so there's no telling where this story will wind up. I don't have an update schedule, though I am almost done with the second chapter. It's essentially a battle of my muse vs time I can write. :/**

 **At the moment, the story will be a bit of gollywhopper, so I have no idea how long its going to be. Chapter lengths will vary as well. Please leave reviews, as it does feed the muse. :)**

 **Pairings: Hermione/Antonin Luna/Rabastan**

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Most fugitive muggle-born, half-blood, and blood-traitors had been picked down one by one. In the beginning, after the battle had been lost, they scattered by roaches. It had been easy enough to find various safe-house as they stupidly hid in hordes, clinging together. Sure, one or two would fight, however the others would look on with hopelessness shimmering in their eyes. However, as time passed, it grew harder to find the fugitives, and so the bounties placed upon them were astronomical.

Not every fugitive was returned to Azkaban. Most of the males were killed simply because they brought more trouble than they were worth. The Weasley family, for example, was almost completely terminated except for three of the children.

Life carried on. Not peacefully, not normally. But it continued.

Sometimes, it was hard to remember anything besides slaughter. Killing, raping, torturing at every turn. None of this occurred with any Purebloods, of course, unless they were blood-traitors, or were actually committing the acts. Only the inferior population were spit upon.

However, most of the wizarding population fit into the category of being inferior.

The inferiority presented a great problem: there was a severe lack of suitable mates to carry on family names.

There were whisperings of course, throughout the ranks. Rumors began to spread, and suddenly, the idea of complete pureblood supremacy began to seem impossible.

The disreputable scandal that occurred between Rodolphus Lestrange and the muggle woman he impregnated seemed to be the straw to break the camel's back that lead to a great amount of uncertainty throughout the Death Eater ranks. Would they have to resort to Muggle women to carry their heirs?

The Dark Lord, charismatic in every area but physical, proposed a solution. The half-blood and blood-traitor women were to be given to the male members of a pureblood house. These women would be chosen by Death Eaters to carry on their family names and blood. The muggle-born women were to be left for those of lower prestige and lower rank. Or, as play toys for the most odious of Death Eaters.

Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow,

Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,

To the last syllable of recorded time;

And all our yesterdays have lighted fools

The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!

Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player,

That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,

And then is heard no more. It is a tale

Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,

Signifying nothing. (William Shakespeare)

 **April 5, 1999**

Antonin Dolohov held an indescribable amount of disgust for the decree declared by the Dark Lord. Of course, he never told this information to his fellow Death Eaters except for a select few trustworthy as even the thought of it would be treason. His acquaintances, if he could even call them such, had lined up at the opportunity to be in possession of their own play toy.

Even Rabastan Lestrange, a man he had come to trust in a short amount of time, seemed to find little problem with the law. After the scandal with Rodolphus, Rabastan seemed to mature overnight. Despite the inevitable wear that sprung from years in Azkaban, Rabastan had still managed to retain a youthful, somewhat cruel spirit. Now, however, the lines in his face had deepened and his eyes had grown weary. There were many a night that Antonin and Rabastan spent in the Lestrange parlor with a glass of Fire Whiskey and the bitter tongue that came from the fatigue spawned from a cause that neither had enough heart left to advocate.

As he and Rabastan looked upon the row of girls with hollow cheeks and sickly skin, Antonin could not identify who he hated more: Rabastan who convinced him to come, or himself, who agreed.

The girls, though they were imprisoned in Azkaban, were always presented in a special room deep within the Ministry. Initially, the "choosing" room was a damp room in Azkaban, however there was little turn out from the Death Eater population. Few were willing to return to a place where they spent many maddening years.

The girls wore the dirty, striped rags of Azkaban prison. Some had bruised faces. Others still had the tears of dried blood stuck in place that told of past punishments. They were connected by glowing shackles on their wrists that emitted a power surge of energy.

A few of the girls cried silently, while others held no emotion on their faces. They knew what it meant to be chosen by a Death Eater. It was essentially a coin toss as to whether they would be treated kindly or tortured brutally upon arrival. One of the girls chosen prior had committed suicide a few weeks after being selected by one of the more depraved of the bunch. Since then, curses had been placed upon the girls to ensure that any suicidal thoughts or actions were snuffed out quickly.

It was abhorrent.

Alecto Carrow seemed to take pleasure in her position as warden to the new women's ward in Azkaban. Her cruel eyes and yellow sneer in the direction of the girls was disconcerting. Upon further examination, Antonin spotted a large, blunt ring on one of her fingers that seemed the exact size as some of the marks on the girls' skin.

Rabastan looked over the girls, the excitement worn away as he took in the appalling sight. Antonin chose to stare at the floor.

They weren't alone, as a handful of other Death Eater's had taken interest in the girls as well. Some more than others. Walden Macnair looked utterly thrilled at the prospect of picking out a new toy. There were rumors that he had already broken the first one. Young Theodore Nott, followed by his father, was a sick shade of green. It was highly likely he had attended school with most of the girls before him.

"Finally convinced to pick one out, Dolohov?" Macnair sneered. Antonin, the large man that he was, stared down at Macnair.

"Not today," He stated, his tone stolid.

Macnair scoffed and walked over towards one of the girls, her gaze focused firmly on the floor. He grabbed a handful of her dull, black hair and pulled her head back, revealing her face. She could have been attractive in her past life, with brown, almond eyes. However, it was difficult to tell from the cuts on her face.

"What's your name, Chit," Macnair growled. The girl glanced around, searching for anywhere else to stare besides Macnair's sweaty face. Her dead eyes met Theodore Nott, who held his hand over his mouth, likely to keep anything unsavory from coming back up. They looked about the same age.

Cold eyes still on Theodore, the girl answered in a raspy voice. "Cho."

Macnair smirked, releasing Cho from the grip he held. He glanced over at Alecto. "This one. I want this one."

Alecto gave a shark's smile. "Maybe you won't break this one."

A flash of fear passed over Cho's features as Alecto removed the restraints placed upon her. The girl would have a better chance at life in Azkaban.

Macnair left with Cho in tow. Antonin could not feel worse for the girl. Theodore Nott and his father left as well, likely because Theodore could no longer hold the contents of his stomach.

Throughout the exchange, Rabastan had kept his eyes locked with girl that Antonin could only describe as wispy. Antonin watched as his friend took a step towards the wispy girl.

"You have a lot of sadness in your eyes," She said, her voice like a lullaby. The trance she held Rabastan in was broken by the barking of Alecto for the girl to "only speak when spoken to". Rabastan glared at the squat woman.

"Please remove her restraints," He said.

"You don't want that one. She's barmy," Alecto jeered.

"Remove her restraints," He growled, the statement no longer a request but a demand. Alecto huffed but did as she was told, though she pulled on the wispy girl more than necessary. The girl smiled at Alecto as the last of the restraint was removed.

"Maybe one day the nargles with give you back that missing tooth in the back of your mouth," The wispy girl said, eliciting an uncharacteristic snort from Antonin. Alecto looked as though she wanted to murder the girl right where she stood, however one glare from Rabastan led Alecto to stand down.

The trio left the cold, "choosing" room and walked towards the office where Rabastan would sign papers official making the wispy girl his. It reminded Antonin of purchasing an owl.

The girl, whose name they learned was Luna, turned out to be pleasant even as everyone around her essentially decided her fate. Rabastan was utterly captivated, causing him to write down a majority of information on his paper work incorrectly. Dolores Umbridge, or the Toad, as most Death Eaters dubbed her, grew very impatient with his mistakes, though refused to say anything in fear of the Lestrange name.

The Toad eyed Luna up with a curled lip, and Luna did just the same. The blatant loathing was not lost on anyone save for Rabastan. Once the paperwork was done, Antonin was all too ready to leave the tense air that had built.

"Umbridge!" A voice shouted, accompanied by the sudden opening of the office door. In the doorway stood Amycus Carrow with a meek girl in tow. He threw her to the floor at Antonin's feet.

"What is the meaning of this Amycus?" The Toad shrieked in her shrill voice. Amycus sneered, and glanced down at the tiny girl with a rat's nest for hair.

"She's already been claimed, Dolores! She has the stench of another wizard's magical signature all over her!" He raged, spitting ruefully on the girl. The Toad gave out a 'tut'. Amycus shoved his way to Umbridge's desk, stepping on the girl in the process. The cat pictures that covered the office wall meowed in unison.

While Umbridge and Carrow argued back and forth, Antonin and Rabastan made no move to stop Luna as she made her way over to the girl and crouched down. She moved the girl's hair so that her right cheek was visible. Luna softly touched the girl's cheek, wiping the spit away.

"Hermione," She whispered. The arguing stopped as the room became focused on the two girls.

"I will have you know, Amycus, that Hermione Granger has not already been claimed. I saw to that myself!" Umbridge huffed indignantly

Antonin could not keep his eyes off the Hermione Granger. He'd had encounters with her during and after the war, however the most vivid he could recall the was Battle of the Department of Mysteries. She'd silenced him, taking him completely by surprise. Then, he hit her with a curse of his own design. Her internal organs should have contracted into themselves, essentially crushing her internally. She should have been dead. He wasn't ashamed to admit that he still thought of her occasionally, wondering if his curse has left any lingering effects.

"Check then. I tried to bond her to me, and the bond was rejected completely." Umbridge, scoffed and moved from around her desk, taking her wand out and pointing it at Hermione, whispering an incantation. The Toad frowned as a glowing line began to form from Hermione's breastbone to hip bone.

"How is this possible?" She whispered in bewilderment. She looked at Antonin, suspicion in her eyes. "It's your magical signature."

"What the hell Dolohov," Amycus growled, pulling his wand from his pocket. Antonin returned the gesture, his eyes glinting dangerously.

"I wouldn't, Carrow," Antonin stated, his voice low and intimidating. Amycus Carrow might have been a brute, but even he had enough sense to realize there was no sense in engaging in a fight he wouldn't win.

"Remove your magic, Dolohov. She's a mudblood. My mudblood." Amycus stated. Through the exchange, Luna had helped bring Hermione to her feet and the two stood in the background, watching the exchange of Hermione's fate.

"I don't believe so, Carrow. In fact, it sounds as though she's mine." Antonin smirked, eliciting a growl from Carrow as he waved his wand. Carrow was quick, but Antonin was quicker, especially with Rabastan behind him, wand drawn.

Wand still trained on Amycus, Antonin backed away until he had reached Hermione, putting a soft grip upon her elbow. "I'll be taking her with me."

"Mr. Dolohov, there are still piles of paper work to be completed," The Toad shrieked. Antonin put a steady arm around Hermione and began to guide her from the office.

"Owl me," He yelled back into the office, leaving a bewildered Dolores Umbridge, an enraged Amycus Carrow, an amused Rabastan, and a smiling Luna. Rabastan grabbed Luna's hand as they left, turning back towards Umbridge to wink, booming laughter emitting from his lips.

 **July 10, 1998**

Hermione Granger's life had been nothing short of almost endless perdition. She should have died months prior, and yet somehow, life was cruel and allowed her to trudge on through the sludge of adversity. Harry was dead. Ron was dead. Somehow, she was alive.

Dwelling on the things she could not change did her no good, and so every thought of death, whether it be that of a loved one or the contemplation of her own was put away from her mind.

She had lived on the run for a while, though that was nothing new. She was an expert in the art of being a fugitive at this point. For the two months after the battle, she had survived alone with no sign of anyone else even alive after the battle.

Then, she found George. Or rather, George found her.

She had been camping out in a wood almost two hours from London. The day was abnormally hot, and Hermione was on the verge of losing her mind. There was a small creek near where she had set up camp, and she was positive that, with the help of a few wards, only a few minutes of just soaking in the wonderful creek would give her peace.

She left her camp swiftly, wand clutched tightly and invisibility cloak set firmly. The trickle of the water through the creek was the most glorious sound Hermione had ever heard. Before losing herself in her dazed euphoria, Hermione hastily set up strong wards around the creek.

A red fox watched her from a rock.

A giggle sounded from Hermione's lips as she threw off the invisibility cloak and promptly flopped into the creek, almost splashing all the water out. Hermione did not care, however. The moment was wonderful. The cold of the water caused goosebumps to crop up all over her body. Shivers ran down her spine, but she paid the mundane annoyances no mind.

The red fox continued to watch her.

She lay in the creek for half an hour, the water flowing lazily past her.

The fox jumped from its podium and crept suspiciously towards her, sniffing as he got closer. Hermione glanced at the creature, noting that it was missing an ear. Still laying in the creek, she frowned at the fox and promptly sat up.

Before her eyes, the fox transformed into an even more wonderful sight than the creek. George Weasley suddenly stood in front of her. She grabbed her wand, and pointed it at his chest.

"How are you feeling, Georgie?" She asked.

"Saint-like," He answered. Hermione dropped her wand and jumped into his arms, hardly believing what she saw. He held her tightly, as though she were an anchor, meant to keep his feet on the ground.

The world seemed to spin again.


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: Oh my goodness! I did not expect so many kind reviews! Thank you all so much for the support! Unfortunately, I don't know when the next chapter will be published, as I've not even had a chance to start writing it. However, the muse has come up with so many epic plot points, though she doesn't like having to determine what happens from point A to point B:/ I hope y'all enjoy!**

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 **April 6, 1999**

Hermione awoke to the gentle crackling of a fire. Shadows danced upon the wall. She was warm. _Warm._ How long had it been since she had been completely warm? It couldn't have been since she and George had to split up.

 _George._

A sharp, splitting pain tugged at her skull and it took everything she had not to scream at the sensation. She grimaced at the pain, and held her hands to her head, as though the pressure would cause the pain to cease.

After a few desperate minutes, the pain began to numb, and Hermione slowly looked around at her surroundings. She was in a simple bedroom with a bed and fireplace. It was sparsely decorated, but held no personal objects. Truthfully, she could have been asleep in the showroom of a furniture store and not have been able to tell the difference.

" _What happened,"_ she thought. Her memory was foggy. It was filled with the bone -chilling despair of Azkaban. But she knew she had left Azkaban a few days prior. If not Azkaban, where was she? Azkaban wasn't warm.

 _Carrow._

Amycus Carrow had gleefully chosen her. She stood in a room of dirty girls. He had picked her out, his yellow teeth gleaming in the light. His sister had been pleased to forcefully undue her chains. She had been slapped, punched, kicked, and spit upon as the siblings took their time before Amycus took his prize home.

Truthfully, she didn't remember much after he took her home. Pain. Nothing more. Sometimes, in her moments of madness, she would think back to her time spent in hiding with George, the way he would smile softly. He never grinned though, never was truly, irrevocably happy.

The only true feeling she could remember with Carrow was the burning of her veins as they screamed at her to run away. She never could, however, and would always be subject to cruel taunts and curses throw at her when he pointed his wand.

Hermione attempted to rise from the bed, her movements lethargic. She made her way to the bedside, but could not will her legs to rise, and when she finally could, she fell to the wooden ground of the floor with a thud.

"Shit," She hissed, a wave of nauseous accompanying the pain that engulfed her body. The sudden noise of the bedroom door being forced open roused her from her thoughts as a stranger entered the room.

The stranger helped her up in as gentle a manner as they could. She could tell by the roughness of the stranger's hands and the build of his body that he had to be a man, even though she wasn't looking. The man sat her on the side of the bed. She noticed that her feet didn't touch the ground. Instead they dangled freely.

"Are you okay?" The man asked, his voice betraying a slight Russian accent. Her vision was still funny, so the man was coming into focus somewhat slowly. She could tell though, that he had dark hair, and was large and hulking.

"Yes," She croaked. The man came into focus.

 _Antonin Dolohov._

She blinked a few times, not trusting what she was seeing. The memories began to flood back into her senses. Amycus Carrow had taken his time in breaking her in so that when he finally took her, she wouldn't cause trouble. He never got the chance. Just as he was about to violate her in the worst way possible, he grew angry, terrifyingly so. He began to yell about her already being claimed by someone else.

He used the cruciatus curse repeatedly.

He forced her back into the Ministry, yelling obscenities in the name of Dolores Umbridge. She silently agreed with every horrible word that came out of his mouth on her behalf.

Then she remembered. _Luna._

"Luna?" She asked, so softly he almost missed it. He knelt before her so that she no longer had to look up at him.

"She's fine, I promise. She's with Rabastan and-"

"Lestrange?" She gasped. Her eyes were narrowed at the large, Russian man before her. She had no reason to trust him. Truthfully, he had played the villain in many of her nightmares since the Department of Mysteries. He'd almost killed her. The look of pure hatred he shot at her during that battle when she was only sixteen was burned into her memory. Yet, now he had done nothing with a seemingly ill intent. In a way, he had saved her.

"Rabastan would likely rather kill himself than harm her. They took quickly to each other." He answered.

"And you?" She asked.

"What?"

"Would you harm me?" She asked, the word _again_ lingering unspoken. It was a risk, for sure, but she needed to know where she stood with this man. She didn't trust him, that was certain.

"I suppose you'll have to find out for yourself," He answered, his voice somewhat cool. He rose from his kneeling position and gestured towards the bottles of tonic she had missed completely that sat on the bedside table. "I left some potions for you, to help you recover. The bathroom is down the hall on the right. I don't have any clothes your size, but I picked one of smaller shirts for you to wear."

Once he finished, he left rather abruptly. Hermione took the potions, feeling better with each one she swallowed until she felt she finally had the strength to walk. It was still a difficult trek, however, as she wobbled slightly with every step she took.

Once she made it to the bathroom, she took in her skeletal appearance. A myriad of bruises marred her skin. In the mirror, she saw a girl she no longer recognized. As quickly as she could, she ripped the dirty, Azkaban prison uniform from her body.

Her naked form frightened her. She could account for every rib in her body, as her skin held on to each of them tightly. Her breasts, though not large to begin with, were virtually nonexistent. The small curves that had taken shape on her hips during puberty had disappeared. Easily, Hermione could have passed as a boy to anyone only looking from the waist up.

She breathed deeply as she examined the scar that had marred her body since the end of her fifth year. Hermione traced it from her breastbone to her hip bone multiple times, unconsciously pushing her fingers deeper into her skin along the path of the scar until it finally caused her enough pain to stop.

It was all his fault she had endured so much pain, and yet now she had to live with him? Coexist with him? Submit to him? He had to hate her. Despise her even. Was life so cruel a player?

" _Yes,"_ Hermione thought bitterly, scoffing out loud. She turned her thoughts to something else, anything else.

Something like how Lavender Brown was likely rolling in her grave because of the state of Hermione Granger's hair.

Though always bushy and curly, Hermione's hair had never completely resembled a rat's nest. Truthfully, there was no telling what fluids had mixed together to give her hair such tangle. It was knotted beyond repair. She began to rummage through the sink drawers until she found a pair of scissors. She cut away at all the tangled strands until her hair was a somewhat decent length full of layers, the longest layer brushing her shoulders.

Her hair had lost its curl at some point, likely due to stress and malnutrition, so it hung limply with no volume.

Satisfied, she threw the cut hair into the trashcan along with the uniform, wishing in that moment she could set them both to fire.

Hermione turned the shower onto the hottest setting, and did not even flinch when the heat scorched her skin. It was utterly glorious. She scrubbed away at the grim that coated her skin and was not surprised to see the water that pooled around her feet had turned a dingy color.

She stayed in the water for much longer than she knew she should have, but she couldn't resist. When she finally emerged, the steam in the bathroom was thick. Her skin was red and raw.

She wrapped herself in two towels, one for her body and the other for her hair, and sat down on the toilet for a moment, taking in the heat of the steam. Her body felt more relaxed than it had in a long time.

Content with how dry she was, she looked at the clothes that Dolohov said he had left her. The man was huge, so anything she put on would make her look even more malnourished than she already was. With no other choice, she put on his black button-down shirt, thought it was admittedly more of a dress on her. His pants were utterly impossible and pooled around her ankles. She cuffed them to fix the length as much as she could, though it was almost hopeless.

 _This must have been how Harry felt._ Hermione shunned the thought from her mind as fast as she could but the lingering sadness remained. He would always joke about wearing his cousin's large hand-me-downs, a good-natured grin on his features, though if she was paying enough attention, the pain of his life previous to that of Hogwarts always remained.

Hermione left the bathroom feeling much better than she had before she entered. She was finally able to walk somewhat normally, the only handicap being the large clothes she wore that she had to constantly pull up. She walked down the hallway slowly, glancing around the area as she did. There were two other doors besides the room she had awoken in and the bathroom. She stored the information for later, perhaps at night when she knew her curiosity would get the better of her.

Towards the end of the halfway, there were a set of stairs leading down. As she moved closer, a pleasant smell began to invade her nostrils. _Stew._ Torn between her desire to crawl under the covers of the bed she had woken in and follow the smell, her stomach finally made its decision when she heard its loud protest.

Hermione crept down the stairs, trying her hardest not to hit every creak on the boards. She failed, of course, as one does when they're attempting to be sneaky. The smell of the stew seemed to call to her, as with every sniff, her stomach gargled louder.

At the bottom step, Hermione stopped, hesitant of what to expect. Would she just waltz in there, wearing his clothes no less, and except him to serve her food? Would she be punished if she entered the kitchen? Yelled at? Tortured?

As she argued internally, the sound of a male voice singing began to ring. The voice was pleasant enough, not the best she had ever heard, but it had a calming effect. It was baritone, deep and warm. The words, though she couldn't make them out, weren't in English. They had the flow of a Slavic language, and if she had to guess, it was Russian. The song was soft, almost melancholy.

Lost in the sound of the calming song, Hermione seemed to forget where she was and stepped off the edge of the step she had been standing on, her lead feet making a loud thud on the ground. The singing ceased.

"I wasn't sure how long you were going to stand there, _Yagoda_." She heard, amusement evident in his voice. Her cheeks burned red. She gathered her composure and made her way to where the voice had come from.

The kitchen was small and undecorated, like most of the house. Dolohov sat on a kitchen chair, his feet propped up on the table and a newspaper in his hands. At her appearance, he abruptly smashed the paper shut and stared at her oddly. His brown eyes looked her up and down, the odd look replaced with a frown.

"You look even smaller wearing that," He said, running a hand through his dark hair. Behind him, a spoon stirred the stew that sat on the stovetop. She stood awkwardly, unsure of how to respond. How does one respond to a man who at one point in her life had wanted her dead?

"Sit down," He said, gesturing to the wicker chair across from him. She crossed the short distance quickly, gently taking a seat across from Dolohov. He gave her one last look before getting up and moving towards the stove, grabbing a bowl from a cabinet. He stopped the stirring spoon in its tracks and ladled out some of the stew into the bowl. He sat the bowl in front of Hermione, and retook his seat across from her.

After a few awkward minutes of no movement from either party, Dolohov raised an eyebrow. "It's not poisoned."

Hermione looked up from her gaze that had been firmly placed upon the stew and met his eyes. "Why?"

"Why did I not poison you?" Dolohov asked, his fingers playing with the ends of his beard. Instead of growing cold, as he had done previously, his expression was thoughtful.

"Why are you doing this for me?"

"Technically, I suppose I own you, as archaic as that sounds," He answered, though they both knew it was weak.

"That's irrelevant," She countered. Dolohov nodded his head in agreement, his brain beginning to hurt. Why indeed. Truthfully, he had spent the hours she had been asleep locked in his study, a bottle of whiskey being his only companion. He understood the legal aspect of the impromptu arrangement. He even understood why he was so elated at the thought of keeping her out of the nefarious hands of Amycus Carrow. What he did not understand, however, was why he was being compassionate to the girl.

"You're right." He answered, lost in thought. "Eat, or it's going to get cold."

Hermione scowled at the older man, and would likely have kept up the staring contest that had begun between her and the bowl of stew had her stomach not intervened. It took all she had not to devour the stew in one gulp, as she knew the repercussions of such acts on a malnourished person would be unsavory, as she would likely see the stew again later.

"Once you recover, I figure we can go out and get you new clothes." Hermione nodded at his words as she finished off the last of her meal. Reluctant to admit it, even internally, she found the stew to be absolutely wonderful.

"I want to go see Luna," She announced, staring him down. The corners of his bearded mouth seemed to turn up rather slightly. Of course, this caused her stare to grow even harder.

"When both of you have recovered, we can make a visit to Lestrange Manor. However, at the moment neither of you are going anywhere."

She scowled at him, her eyebrows furrowed. Her lip was curled, a slew of cruel taunts just waiting to fall. "I'm not a child who needs to have playdates arranged."

"So you say, but that pout says otherwise."

"I feel well enough-" Hermione started, but was abruptly cut off from a yawn escaping from her mouth. Her eyes began to droop heavily and her head began to bobble to the point that she almost couldn't hold it. Despite the tired look in her eyes, Antonin knew a glare when he saw one.

"You drugged me," She said between yawns. It was hard to decipher, but the accusation in her sleepy tone was hard to miss. Antonin jumped from his chair, jarring the table, and barely caught her in the nick of time before her sleeping body feel headfirst onto the floor. In his arms, he positioned her so that her arms were wrapped around his neck and her legs around his torso, almost like an abnormally large toddler.

Did he feel bad about adding a potion to the stew? Not necessarily. And her hadn't drugged her per say, simply encouraged her body to get the rest it needed. His mother used to do the same to him and his brother when they were younger and sick. They would always insist that they were well, but his mother had always been a very perceptive woman, and though her methods were unorthodox, they were effective.

Antonin carried the small witch up the stairs, trying to ignore the fact that he enjoyed the way her body felt when it was wrapped around his. Perhaps one day he would carry her up the stairs for reasons of her own pleasure. This would mark the second time in two days that Antonin had been made to carry an unconscious witch through his house.

He left Hermione in her bed, carefully to make sure she had a fire going and the room was warm enough. With one glance towards the sleeping young woman, Antonin sighed before closing her bedroom door. She would be utter hell to answer to when she woke up. Thankfully, he had more than enough time to prepare mentally for her onslaught.

 **July 18, 1998**

The sound of George's breathing had become as familiar to Hermione as the back of her hand. She had gone from not interacting with people for so many weeks that she had become greedy in watching the older man breathe.

He was able to tell her his compiled list of who he knew to be alive. Many were imprisoned, and a mass execution day was to happen in less than a fortnight where many captured Order members were to be put to death by means of Muggle hanging. July 31st. _Harry's Birthday._

Minerva Mcgonagall, Aberforth Dumbledore, Seamus Finnigan, Kingsley Shacklebolt, and Dedalus Diggle were among those to be killed.

She cried when he told her.

George Weasely was nothing but a person merely existing with only half a soul. He had no idea where most of his family was besides those already dead. Fred was gone. Ron was gone. Molly was gone.

 _Breathe in._

George wrapped his arms around her.

 _Breathe out._

She could feel his ribs through his shirt.

"They got Bill too," He rasped. She grabbed him tighter.


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: Hey guys! Thank you all for your kind words and favorites and follows! It seems so much to me! 3**

 **Fair warning, in case ya'll haven't noticed, this story is going to be dark. This chapter is a bit different the first two, but I hope ya'll like it just the same!**

 **Please review and just let me know how ya'll feel with how the story is going, the characters, and everything!**

* * *

 **April 7, 1999**

Luna Lovegood was not ashamed to admit that she had spent the majority of her two days in the Lestrange Manor soaking in the bathtub. The water was charmed so that it was always warm. A kind house-elf by the name of Jingle had even brought Luna a pillow so that she could fall asleep in the tub without fear of waking of with an aching neck.

She'd only seen Rabastan Lestrange two times in the past two days, as he had been checking in on her recovery in her rooms. The fault was mostly her own, however, as she had been occupying her time in the bathtub.

She'd scrubbed every trace of Azkaban from her skin, and washed its residue from her hair. Out of all the things she had missed during her stay, a warm bath had to have been the most coveted. That, and socks. When Jingle brought her clothes, she provided her with a long pair of thick socks. Luna could have cried on the spot.

Dressed, and feeling better than she had in months, Luna made her way from her room in order to find her host. Of course, she could have called for Jingle to help her find Rabastan Lestrange, but where was the fun in that?

The waning light streaming through the hall windows told her that dusk was fast approaching. The hall was beautiful, of course, however it was cold. Not chilly, but uninviting. She felt unwelcomed as she made her walk, as though the Lestrange ancestors were following her, sneering in silence.

The hall seemed to stretch forever. Feeling hopeless of finding anyone or anything else, Luna decided to turn around. However, as she turned on her heel, she caught the soft cry of baby coming from one of the various rooms.

The sound grew louder.

Luna located the door the sound had come from, intrigued. She had barely seen Rabastan Lestrange, and there had been no sign of Rodolphus Lestrange. And neither had children from what she could remember.

She hesitantly opened the door, her palms shaking. The room was a nursery, seemingly empty. Various pieces of furniture needed for babies was present. A crib sat in the middle of a room. Luna walked closer to the crib and looked inside. Two large, blue eyes looked back up at her. The baby's scrunched face seemed to unwind as it realized there was another presence in the room.

The baby was beautiful, with warm skin and a halo of beautiful, black curls popping up gently from its head. It couldn't have been more than a few months old.

Luna smiled at the child, who squirmed in its bed. A wail emitted from its mouth. Luna's eyes widened as the sound startled her. Without thinking, she grabbed the beautiful child, holding it outward at arm's length.

Blue eyes met blue eyes as the baby ceased its wailing. Still holding the child, she sat down on the nursey floor, crossing her legs as she sat. Luna pulled the baby closer to her chest, and gently rubbed its dark curls with one hand. The baby calmed at her touch.

"You were just lonely, weren't you?" She asked softly, fingering a curl. She softly blew a breath at the baby, causing the baby's eyelashes to flutter in confusion. She blew again, and this time a large, toothless grin spread across the baby's features. Luna smiled back.

The sudden 'pop' of a House Elf apparating stirred Luna from her placid state.

"What are you doing here?!" An unrecognizable voice sounded. Luna turned to see an unfamiliar house elf storming towards her. The house elf snatched the baby from Luna's hands with a speed faster than Luna could register. The beautiful baby began to cry once more.

"Get out! Master Rabastan doesn't allow anyone to be in here!" The house elf spat. Shaken, Luna ran from the room.

 **April 7, 1999 5:07 a.m.**

Antonin awoke to the familiar burning in his arm. He grimaced at the unwelcome wake-up call and stiffly arose from the bed. Bare from the waist up, he shivered as the cold air touched his tan skin. The fire in his room had gone out sometime during the night, and though there were charms that could be used to keep a fire burning at all hours, he always chose to forego such charms.

He quickly summoned his clothing and dressed. As long as the Dark Lord did not send him on a mission, there would be little need to worry about the witch down the hall in his guest bedroom. Truthfully, it would be easier to put off talking to the witch for as long as possible. She would be absolutely livid when she woke up, and would likely blow up at him the first chance she got. And he was afraid. His anger had never been a calm force, and he was scared of himself and his reaction.

The Dark Lord, as a final insult to the Malfoy family, continued to use their home as his base. The Malfoy family had been humiliatingly forced from their home and life of leisure. As punishment, they were to serve as professors at Hogwarts, as the Wizarding Community was in short supply after the mass executions. A few of the professors had been competent end kept their mouths shut and their actions hidden, and were thus granted leniency. Antonin speculated many of the professors did this not for themselves, but for their children. Lucius, under the watchful eyes of Amycus Carrow, was the assistant Dark Arts professor, a title that meant he was used as a test dummy for all of Amycus' curses. Draco served as assistant in Potions to Horace Slughorn. Narcissa's lie, however, had cost her life.

The manor was immaculate, though the overall atmosphere grew less Malfoy each time Antonin visited. It was large and arrogant, and at most times too imposing for his tastes. True, his childhood home had been nothing to scoff at, and had been deemed one of the most beautiful in Russia, however his mother had always managed to keep a comforting feel throughout the Dolohov Manor.

Antonin was not the only one called as he glanced at the various Death Eaters making their way to the imposing manor from the apparition spots surrounding the wards. The Dark Lord had been very thorough in the protection of his headquarters, and had created wards that only allowed those to pass through that had the Dark Mark.

"Any idea what we've been called for?" A familiar voice whispered quietly behind him. Antonin turned to see Rabastan, his hair still somewhat mused from sleep and a yawn threatening to pass through his lips. Sometimes, Rabastan surprised Antonin greatly. Rodolophus' affair and subsequent punishment had taken its toll upon the youngest Lestrange brother. He had lost the swagger he had managed to uphold even while in Azkaban. Now, however, in regards to tasks placed by the Dark Lord, he seemingly did the bare minimum. Do enough to survive, but not enough to be placed on the radar.

"None," Antonin answered. The pair walked in silence to the manor behind the horde of their associates.

The dining room had been where the Dark Lord had set up his "throne" room. The Death Eaters assembled accordingly, the most prestigious being the closest to the Dark Lord. Antonin was close to the front. Various candles floated around the room though their flames were black and seemed to absorb light rather than emit it, a mockery to the ceiling of the Great Hall.

"Welcome," Their lord hissed. "I'm sure you're all anxious to know why I have gathered you here today."

There was slight stirring among the ranks, a whisper here and there. The Dark Lord raised his wand and pointed to the ceiling. Upon looking up, Antonin noticed the floating form of a man almost touching the chandelier. The Dark Lord lowered the man slowly, so that all of his disciples could catch a glimpse.

After a second of staring, Antonin knew he was looking at a Weasley, as the red hair was a tell-tale sign. He wasn't that old, perhaps a little older than Hermione. His face was cut and bruised. Blood covered his clothes and body. His hair was long and shaggy, and wild facial hair had begun to grow from his chin. It looked as though the Weasley man had been living alone for a long time.

The Dark Lord abruptly lowered his wand, forcing the Weasley to drop from at least five feet from the ground. He was unconscious, and more than likely barely hanging on to life.

"Today is the day, my friends, that I reinvent our kingdom." Antonin and Rabastan discretely exchanged looks, unsure of what their lord could mean. In all of his shadowy splendor, the Dark Lord seemed to float towards the body of the Weasley man.

"This is the beginning of the end of your kind," He hissed, grabbing the man by his throat. The Dark Lord began chanting in a language even Antonin didn't understand. It was ancient. In one sudden swoop, the Dark Lord engulfed the man, almost like a dementor. The air was thick. A dark shadow of hell surrounded the two and Antonin could not make out anything between the black mist.

The Death Eaters looked around uneasy, most looking as though they wished they could run. In a blinding light, the darkness disappeared along with the former form of their lord. In his place, there was stood a handsome man, standing in the robes of the Dark Lord with his bare foot resting upon the chest of the Weasley man as though he were Hades, the god of the underworld who had just taken a human soul.

This was the man that Antonin had originally agreed to follow. It was as though time had not changed him since the last time Antonin had seen the Dark Lord so human. This was the face of a man who could have held the whole world with a smirk and a wink.

"My followers," The Dark Lord said, his voice no longer a hiss. "I wanted you present for the New Era of Lord Voldemort."

Truthfully, Antonin wanted to vomit.

 **November 5, 1963**

"Ruslan! Ruslan!" Antonin called, desperately searching for his older brother. Ruslan would be in big trouble if Mama or Papa found him outside so soon before dinner. Antonin adjusted his scarf tighter around his neck as the cold began to creep through the cracks in his clothes.

"Ruslan!" Antonin called again, finally catching sight of his brother. However, the sight was not a relieving one, as Ruslan was soaring almost as high as one of the large trees in their yard on his broom. Papa had told them to never get on their brooms by themselves.

"Ruslan, get down!" The younger boy called, hoping his brother would hear him. To his relief, Ruslan glanced at Antonin and began to wave.

"Antonin, look how high I am," Ruslan called, laughing gleefully.

"Ruslan, please!" The older boy scowled at Antonin's pleas but soon began to hover closer to the ground until his feet touched. He grabbed the broom from between his legs and held, somewhat glaring at his younger brother.

"What Antonin?"

"What if Mama and Papa had seen you Ruslan?" Antonin reasoned. Ruslan narrowed his green eyes. In appearance, Ruslan had taken after their beautiful Mama, with eyes so green and hair so light that it was impossible to deny him anything. Antonin, on the other hand, had taken his father's gruff, dark features. In personality, however, the boys couldn't be more opposite.

"They wouldn't have Antonin, I promise."

His words were not good enough for Antonin however, as he snatched the broom from his older brother.

"You've got to stop getting in trouble Ruslan. Mama even told me I had to keep an eye on you."

Ruslan narrowed his eyes and began to approach Antonin menacingly. Despite being three years younger, Antonin was tall for his age, and only stood about an inch shorter than Ruslan. This eliminated an intimidation effect by his brother. What caused Antonin to step back, however, was the coldness in his brother's eyes. Those green eyes might have belonged to their mother, but they held all the coldness of their father.

"You are not my keeper." Ruslan growled, pushing Antonin to the cold ground. Tears began to well up in Antonin's eyes.

"Antonin!" A loud, harsh voice said, causing both boy to freeze in fear. They did not even have to look to know that their father had caught them.

Their father pulled Antonin to his feet to face him firmly. "What did I say about flying?"

Antonin did not answer, but instead stared at the ground.

"Look at me boy!" His father roared. He forcefully lifted Antonin's head and was able to see the tears rolling down his cheeks.

"I'm sorry Papa," Antonin whimpered, but instead of looking at his father, he locked eyes with Ruslan, who had remained silent through the whole encounter.

Needing no other answer, his father grabbed him roughly and carried him back towards the house. Antonin began screaming, completely aware that his father was not going to be kind when delivering his punishment.

Ruslan stayed outside, left with the realization that his younger brother would do anything for him. He would take any risk and any blame. Sweet Antonin would take even the wrath of their father if it meant keeping Ruslan safe.


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: HOLY GOODNESS! Thank you everyone for the follows, favorites, and reviews! You guys are amazing and so inspiring! I hope this story is enjoyable for everyone and that I'm keeping ya'll on your toes! Feel free to message me about anything whether it be a question about the story, plot characters, or a nice hello:) Please review and give me some feedback! It really inspires me knowing that there are people out there who enjoy my work! Love ya'll!**

* * *

 **April 7, 1999**

When Hermione had woken up, she was enraged. Her room took most of the damage, as raw magic radiated off her in spurts, causing scorch marks to be dotted upon the wall. After her vengeful tirade of pent up emotion that concerned not only being drugged, but her circumstances, life, and sanity at that point, Hermione skillfully crept from her room. Truthfully, she should have realized Dolohov wasn't there when he didn't barge into her room at the sound of her war path.

Desperate for something to eat, Hermione stealthily walked down the stairs and towards the kitchen. With no sign of her keeper, she searched the cabinets and pantry for something to appease her. Something that wasn't laced, mind you.

After settling on toast and eating four slices happily, Hermione sat at the kitchen table, bored. After all the trouble he had gone through, it had seemed uncharacteristic of Dolohov to leave her unsupervised. However, she wasn't going to complain. She took the time to explore her new dwelling, searching for any crack she could slip through to escape.

Positive as she was that it was foolish to try, Hermione still attempted to leave through the front door of the house, though she was promptly thrown back by the ward Dolohov had placed.

"Dammit," She muttered, rising to her feet. Once again, she was left with nothing to do and began her journey of exploration, this time finding herself in what seemed to be his library.

She hated to admit it, but his library was spectacular. There was a wonderfully placed nook in the windowsill that she could imagine herself being lost in a book, nestled against the window. He had a multitude of books on magical theory and charms, though some were in Russian and thus out of her reach. What surprised her most, however, were the amount of fictional works he possessed. They weren't just any type of fiction: they were all written by muggles.

He had many a myriad of fiction novels, all ranging from Shakespeare to Scott Fitzgerald to Jane Austen. Hermione almost giggled when she glanced at the worn copy of _Pride and Prejudice,_ as if she could imagine a man as rough as he reading about the arguments of Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Darcy.

Unsure of which copy to grab first, Hermione closed her eyes and reached her hands out, deciding to read the first copy she found. When she looked, she saw that she had grabbed _Macbeth_ by Shakespeare.

However, the book felt much heavier than it should have, causing Hermione to scrunch her eyebrows.

She handled the book in her hands for a moment before she opened its pages. To her ultimate surprise, she found the book to be hollowed out. In the hole, there sat a wand, shrunk by a shrinking spell seemingly, but a wand just the same. Her eyes barely registered the words underlined in dark ink on the page next to the hollow, as she grabbed the wand from the book.

She quickly stashed the wand in the pocket of Dolohov's ridiculously large shirt she was wearing, and shut the book, placing it back upon the shelf. She then decided upon reading _Pride and Prejudice_ and getting lost in the banter of Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Darcy.

She made herself comfortable in her nook, and promptly read.

 **April 7, 1999**

When Antonin arrived home, he was mentally exhausted. Luckily, unlike Rabastan, he had managed to avoid having to patrol Azkaban for the day. Despite spring being already upon them, Azkaban was bitterly cold due to the sea and the dementors. No amount of warming spell could help. He could feel the gnawing of the day's events in the back of his mind, and chose to do the easy thing and ignore them.

He knew Hermione was awake when he noticed the moved chair in the kitchen, along with the bread still left on the counter. At first, he had felt bad for leaving her alone for so long, but obviously, she had made herself at home.

He climbed the stairs, feeling more exhausted with each step. Dammit, he really wasn't up for an argument. He opened the door to her room, and was surprised to find it empty. He was even more surprised to see the pattern of scorch marks on the walls. Choosing not to dwell on the destruction, he closed the door and quietly wondered to himself just what had managed to get himself into with claiming her.

Intuition told him that the second most likely place she would be in would be the library. He was correct. Antonin could have leaped for joy when he saw her, completely simmered, sitting on the windowsill thoroughly engrossed in a book. Judging by how many pages she had left in the novel, this was how she had spent a majority of her day.

The sun behind her was beginning to set, and so rays of orange settled against her shorter hair, bringing out a golden highlight. Her eyebrows were scrunched, and her eyes were fully invested on the story in front of her. _Pride and Prejudice._ A favorite of his, though he would never admit it out loud.

"I appreciate being stared at almost as much as I appreciate being drugged." A soft voice said to him, shaking Antonin from his thoughts.

"I'll apologize for the staring, but not the potion, _Yagoda_ ," He countered. She simply gave a slight 'hm' and closed the book softly. Antonin cleared his throat in an awkward manner.

"Tomorrow, we can go out and buy clothes in your size, if you'd like." Whiskey eyes met his own dark eyes and stared at him firmly.

"Why are you asking me?" She asked, not in an attempt to get a rise from him, but honestly. "I doubt you'd like for your mudblood to be seen in your clothes, so you'd take me anyways. Or you could even ask me for my size and get them without me. Why are you asking me?"

Antonin cringed at her use of the slur, however judging by her expression, the word had lost its sting.

"Truthfully? I don't know. Maybe because you haven't been asked how you feel about something in a while."

Her eyebrows grew scrunched once more as she allowed his confession to settle in. Antonin knew he was not a good man, and already knew that she believed him to be vile. They needed to establish a relationship, however, and the easiest way to do so was trust. He could show her that he trusted her to make her own decisions.

"Alright," She answered after a few moments of thoughtful silence. He knew better than to expect the words 'thank you'. He also knew that if she were to utter the sacred words, that she had already lost whatever belief she had in her self-worth as a person. To say 'thank you' for the simple task of being able to give an opinion was maddening. And this was the world that the Dark Lord was trying and was essentially successful in creating.

Hermione stared out the window to think, and Antonin excused himself to the kitchen to fix both of them supper. Unbeknownst to him, Hermione felt the miniature wand weigh deeper into her shirt pocket.

 **April 8, 1999**

Rabastan could not be more relieved when he took in the sight of Lestrange Manor. His body was still shivering after spending almost 24-hours in Azkaban. His spirit was drained and he wished to do nothing more than take a long nap in front of the fireplace.

As he walked up the front steps, Winsey, a stern house elf who had been with the Lestrange family ever since he was a baby, apparated in front of him.

"Master Lestrange, Winsey is glad you is here, sir. That girl was snoopin' around the manor sir." The house elf said sporadically. Her large eyes were wide with disgust when she referenced Luna.

"She's an occupant now, Winsey. It's only her right. Now go light a fire in the study." Rabastan ordered, losing his patience. Dammit, he was freezing and did not wish to hear the displeasures of an elderly house elf.

"She found the Young Master, sir."

Rabastan, who had been opening the front door, stopped dead in his tracks and gave the elf a hard stare. "How in the hell could she have even gotten in? The room is meant to be impenetrable to everyone besides me and you."

"I don't know, Master Lestrange." Winsey said, her ears lowering in disgrace. Rabastan's hard stare turned cold as cruelty crept into his eyes.

"Go and tend to RJ. And do not leave him for anything." He ordered, opening the door and stalking inside. Though he was almost positive that Luna would not have done anything to harm the child, if she could get in that meant others could as well.

He made his way into the parlor room and was surprised to a fire had already been started. Luna sat on a love seat, legs crossed beneath her, drawing on a piece of paper. "Hello Mr. Lestrange."

"Rabastan, please." He answered, making his way across the room to sit beside her. When he sat, she immediately stopped her drawing and placed it to the side, moving a piece of pale hair from her eyes. She eyed him for a second, her whimsical eyes boring into his soul, and touched his cheek with on her small hands.

"You feel like death," She said softly. "Jingle told me you were patrolling the prison. I made sure there was a fire blazing to help you when you returned."

"Thank you," He said, genuinely touched. He felt more warmth from her words than he did the roaring fire. Rabastan grabbed the hand on his face and pulled it to his lips, kissing her dainty hand softly. She smiled softly, her blue eyes shining. She drew back her hand and resumed her drawing.

"I thought I would never be warm again, when I was in that place," She said, not glancing up from her paper. Rabastan stared at her pale features, thoroughly enchanted by the focused look upon her face. She sat the quill she had been using to draw with down and dipped a finger into the ink pot, shading her drawing.

"I would imagine beautiful things in my head. And relive memories. When the dementors came around, I would imagine that I was bird. I could fly far away from that place." She continued. Rabastan said nothing, but grabbed a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to her when she seemed done with her drawing. Instead of signing, she left only a fingerprint at the bottom right of the drawing. She took the handkerchief gratefully and wiped her fingers.

She said nothing, but handed him the drawing and stood up. "He's very lonely Rabastan. But very beautiful. I won't pry, I promise."

She silently left the room leaving Rabastan in a state of utter confusion gripping a picture of the beautiful child.

"Damn this woman," He muttered, wonder and fear dancing into his eyes.

 **April 8, 1999**

Hermione had never been one to be excited at the prospect of purchasing new clothes, but she wasn't going to lie. She was utterly ecstatic at the thought that today Dolohov would take her out of the house. She prepared herself for the day quickly, practically bouncing as she brushed her teeth.

When she made it down to the quaint kitchen, Dolohov was signing a stack of papers. An ornery looking owl sat on the table beside him. Hermione raised her eyebrow but didn't ask, instead choosing to search for something to fill her empty stomach. It seemed toast would become her best friend in her prison.

As stealthily as she could, she tried to look over his shoulder in an attempt to see what he was signing. She caught her name in more than one place on the various pages.

"You could just ask, _Yagoda_." His deep voice said, still rough from sleep. She lowered her eyes and turned away, her cheeks turning pink due to being discovered. "It's from the Department of Magic Preservation."

Biting a piece of toast, Hermione scrunched her eyebrows and made her way to the table, taking a seat.

"I've never heard of that," She admitted.

Her looked up at her, his dark eyes taking on a frustrated glow. "Probably not, but you've been directly affected by it. It was put in place when the Dark Lord declared the witch pairing law."

Hermione huffed, rage engulfing her whiskey eyes. "Let me guess, Dolores Umbridge is the Head?"

Dolohov didn't answer, but instead curled his lip at the sound of the foul woman's name.

"So, you're signing away my life?"

Dolohov gave a bitter laugh at her vengeful question. "Yes."

"I fail to see the humor in the situation, sir," Hermione shot back, her teeth bared. Magic seemed to radiate off of her in utter fury. She gave Dolohov the appearance of beautiful force of nature. Beautiful, but dangerous.

"Life's but a walking shadow, _Yagoda._ "

"That word! Stop saying that word. So help me, refer to me in English or not at all. It's like your own personal joke that I don't understand." She all but screamed her frustrations.

In her moment of tirade, Antonin was able to see her exactly for what she was. She was a young woman who had walked through perdition and back in an attempt to save everything she knew, and yet that still hadn't been enough. She was intelligent, very much so, and a force of nature. However, she was still a young girl who hadn't been able to experience a childhood until she was forced into the direction of an oncoming warpath. She was experienced in the cruelty of life, but her fire told him that she still believed in the good; she still believed in a world better than the one she had been given.

"Alright," He conceded. "I'll only refer to you by your given name, _Hermione_."

Her magical aura seemed to immediately shrink around her. It held the same effect as a dog who had just lowered its ears in confusion.

"Only."

"Only," She repeated after him.

"If you call me Antonin."

Her confusion turned into a somewhat feisty manner. "I'm surprised you're not requiring me to call you Master Dolohov."

He only laughed at her sharp words, genuinely amused. "I was never Master Dolohov. Besides, contrary to what you believe, Yag-Hermione, not every Death Eater receives pleasure from subjugation."

"You contradict yourself almost every time you open your mouth." She said, the promise of a challenge swimming in her whiskey eyes.

He only laughed at her statement, a sound that grated on her nerves to no end, and declared that it was time to depart for the promise of clothes. He signed the last signature needed and sent the ornery owl on its way. To her disgruntlement, he cast a glamor over her to conceal the fact that she was wearing his large, button down look that gave her the appearance that she had been thoroughly shagged the night before. Now, she appeared to be wearing a very modest, very fitting sundress. She looked down at her appearance.

"No."

"No?" He asked, raising an eyebrow. Without answering, she lifted one of her skinny arms and held it to his face. Carved into her skin was an ugly blemish. _Mudblood_.

"No." She said again. He tipped his head.

"No." He affirmed. He enhanced the glamor to give the illusion that she wore a jumper over her sundress. Satisfied, he held out his arm for her to grab so that she could leave through the wards. She hesitated for a moment before taking his arm, her petite hands holding onto him tightly as they walked through the front door. When the sun hit her face, she winced at the harshness of the light. The heat seemed to burn her skin. It was _glorious._

Hermione wanted to vomit as the pulling feeling in her stomach that accompanied Side-Along apparition took hold, plunging its claws into her core. Her eyes were still held tightly shut as she felt her feet hit the ground. Dol-Antonin didn't say anything but instead patted her hand that was still tightly gripped to his arm.

Hermione opened her eyes to her surroundings and could have cried at the new sight. Diagon Alley seemed to be a contradiction of itself. It held all the warmth and wonder it had when she was a child, before the spread of war, but something was off. It was as if the entire area was simply an illusion, hiding under a strong glamor.

"Come on," Antonin whispered, scanning the area. Hermione complied, following him into the various shops around the strip.

He had her fit for robes for various occasions ranging from casual to formal and everything in between. Antonin had even insisted on a very formal, very outfit be fashioned for her. When Hermione tried to pry, he grew almost pale, telling her only that the occasion was something very important and that he would tell her at home. Choosing her battles wisely, she huffed slightly but complied with his wishes.

Hermione had even been able to convince him to allow her to visit a secondhand shop filled with glorious gems that she was truly shocked to discover hadn't been outlawed: jeans. Antonin had only raised his eyebrow when she showed them to him, but after an unintentional pout and the realization of how happy the articles of clothing made her, he agreed to the purchase immediately.

As they strolled to the apparation point, Hermione could tell by the clench of Antonin's jaw and darkness of his eyes that something wasn't right. His scanning had grown paranoid, setting her teeth on edge. She gripped to his arm tightly, feeling utterly naked without a wand. She'd had the good sense to leave her illicit wand at home, worried it would be discovered when her measurements were being taken.

"Almost brilliant glamor, Antonin," A cruel voice said behind them. Antonin stopped dead in his tracks. The pair turned around to see a handsome man, a cruel grin on his features. The man lifted his wand and like a flash of lightening, a spell was cast and Hermione felt the glamor fall away, as if she had been drenched by a bucket of water.

Antonin pulled his wand out quickly, his eyes trained on the man in front of them.

"But not brilliant enough," The man laughed, making his way closer to the pair. Hermione kept her eyes on the man, her grip on Antonin's arm grew tighter.

"Hadrian," Antonin all but growled. The man, Hadrian, smirked.

"How rude of you not to introduce me to your lovely lady, Antonin," Hadrian cackled. He held out his hand, waiting for Hermione to offer her own. Instead, she simply eyed him warily, looking up to Antonin after a moment of uncertainty.

The man let out an amused breath. "You know, I was going to ask why you didn't keep such a feisty thing on a leash, but it looks like she's learned to stay at her master's heels. It almost reminds me of someone else I used to know."

Antonin kept his wand trained on the smirking man.

"Oh, put that down will you. We both know you're not going to curse me," Hadrian laughed. "What would your dear brother say if he knew you had a wand pointed at his best friend?"

Hermione seemed to perk at the newfound information. Antonin had a brother? She had never heard of another Dolohov, though it was entirely possible she could have missed the information somewhere in all the pandemonium.

"Maybe you should have asked him when you left us both to die, Mulciber," Antonin shot back in a voice colder than any Hermione had ever heard. He turned Hermione around, unconsciously being rough whilst doing so, so that she could not glimpse the hatred coming from each of their expressions. "Now, I suggest you leave us alone or else the next spell you cast upon her or me will be your last."

Hadrian Mulciber seemed to realize that Diagon Alley in the middle of broad daylight was not the most appropriate place to settle whatever history the men shared. Many people had already stopped to stare at the trio, a few pointing and whispering excitedly amongst themselves. He stepped back, conceding his grievance for the time being.

"I suggest you keep a tight leash on that one," He said, pointing at Hermione. He gave the pair one last smirk before turning on his heel and stalking through the crowd.

"Let's go," Antonin muttered, guiding her to the apparation point, millions of questions running through her mind.

 **July 24, 1998**

The pair had been preparing for the mass execution for days. The many books that Hermione kept in her beaded bag proved to be very useful, especially the more unsavory reading material. They had been researching a way to almost be unnoticed at the event, to blend in with the crowd in a way that almost completely undetectable.

George and Hermione weren't stupid. They weren't going to rush in and try and save the captured from their execution. Doing so would be suicide.

No, they weren't going for the theatrics. They were going simply because who else would? Granted, there would be people there that believed in what the Order fought for, though they wouldn't dare be vocal. Dammit though, someone needed to be there for these people.

Someone needed to be there so that their sacrifice wouldn't be in vain.

He had kissed her that morning, his eyes still puffy from the night before. Once upon a time, Hermione used to imagine that kissing one of the Weasely twins would be like kissing a jack-in-the-box. They would tease and tease, holding you on the edge of your seat until finally the magic would happen.

But that was when there was two of them.

But now, Hermione knew better.

Kissing George was like trying to kiss the air. You knew it was there, but it gave no indication that it really was.

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	5. Chapter 5

**AN:** Hello Lovelies! I'm so sorry it took so long to churn this chapter out, but life got in the way:/ This is actually the longest chapter yet, which I'm pretty proud of! I hope y'all enjoy! As always, read and review! And please please please send me some thoughts about the story in general, characterization, and all that jazz!

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 **April 9, 1999**

Antonin awoke to the sound of screaming. His eyes shot open and he hopped from his tangled sheets to find the source of sound. His wand in hand, he gave the clock to his bedside a quick glance to see that it three in the morning.

The screaming grew more frantic, causing Antonin to pick up his pace. He almost tripped in the process, worried about the witch who was causing such a disturbance.

Antonin burst into Hermione's room to see her tossing around on the bed, a god-awful scream coming from her mouth.

"Lumos," He said, making his way around the bed. He held the wand close to her face and began to touch her gently. She began to thrash around even more sporadically, her movements that of panic. Her face was contorted in utter pain.

"Hermione," He whispered. One of her flailing hands swung up, hitting him hard in the face. Reacting quickly, he grabbed her arm with his free hand. Her eyes shot open, looking up at him fear. Sweat dotted her forehead.

Her eyes darted around frantically, trying to make sense of her surroundings. "W-what happened?"

"You were screaming." He let go of her hand hesitantly. Hermione took a deep breath, noticing in the sharp light of his wand the red handprint on his cheek.

"Did I do that?"

"Yes," He answered, lowering the wand away from his face to conceal her view.

"I didn't mean to," She mumbled, trailing off into a silence. She tried desperately to look anywhere but his bare chest that was only inches away from her face. Antonin seemed to wave off her apologetic look, attempting to soften the rougher features that naturally fell on his expression.

"I could get you a calming potion to help you fall back asleep," He offered.

Hermione ran a petite hand through her choppy, lank hair in contemplation. She brought her knees to her chest, shrinking her size so that he looked even more giant in comparison.

"Can I just read?" She asked, her voice almost too faint for him to make out. He let out an amused breath, and said nothing as she rose from the bed and followed him to the study, the light of his wand guiding their way.

He lit the fireplace and a few candles around the room and stayed long enough to watch her choose a book, _The Great Gatsby,_ and snuggle into her reading nook in the windowsill.

Instead of returning to his bedroom, Antonin made his way down to the kitchen, his mind still reeling from the events that had taken place the day before. It had taken almost an over dosage of calming potion to help him settle down enough to sleep the first time, and so he wasn't even going to waste his breath on trying to take more. Through the years, he suspected his body had become accustomed to the potion anyways, causing its effectiveness to wane.

Mulciber was a coward if Antonin ever saw one. He'd always been jealous of how effortlessly Antonin had been able to rise through the ranks in the eyes of the Dark Lord. Of course, most of this was due to Ruslan Dolohov's insistence. At one time, Ruslan could have told Antonin to burn the world, and as any good brother does, he would have agreed.

Ruslan had always made the mistake of putting his faith in the wrong people, and as a result, so did Antonin. It was his death that led Antonin to embrace the cunning qualities of the Slytherin house he once scorned and trust very few, only after he had determined their loyalties.

Antonin grabbed a bottle of firewhiskey, forgoing a glass, and took a large swig straight from the bottle.

 **April 9, 1999**

Rabastan had, under the heavy influence of alcohol, decided to forgo sleeping in his own room and sleep with the infant. Winsey, fully aware of her master's stubborn nature, had ceased any form of protest once she noticed the glint in his eye, half skewed by the presence of firewhiskey.

Curled on the floor wearing only a pair of boxers, covered in a blanket, Rabastan Lestrange was a sight for sore eyes.

Soft rays of light fell on Rabastan's face, waking him before the baby could. As if on cue, he began to hear the whimpers of a child, low at first, but gradually growing louder as his loneliness became more pronounced.

Rabastan tried to sit up quickly, though his head screamed in protest. His body still ached from the ordeal he had gone through the day before, and he wished nothing more than to call Winsey to comfort the child. However, in the back of his foggy memory, he seemed to remember why exactly he slept in the nursery in the first place.

" _He's very lonely Rabastan."_

The voice of an angel seemed to speak to him once more, repeating her declaration from the night before. Glancing down at the now crumpled picture beside him, a drawing of her own creation, Rabastan willed himself to his feet.

He loomed over the crib very hesitantly, unsure of what to do. He had held the baby a few times, though was wholly unconfident in his abilities and mostly left Winsey to the nurturing.

"RJ," He whispered, his voice gruff from sleep. The baby quieted slightly, somewhat alarmed at the presence of another human. He blinked his large, blue eyes up at Rabastan.

Rabastan felt his heart constrict in his chest. Now he remembered why he didn't visit RJ. Those eyes haunted him.

RJ, sensing no further interaction, continued his crying, causing Rabastan to step back in panic. The sudden crack of a house elf startled him even more. Without any conscious thought of what he was saying, Rabastan roared at Winsey, declaring that she leaves him alone. The house elf, grumbling at her stubborn master, left with a pop.

Rabastan ran a hand through his dark, auburn curls, trying desperately to find a way to calm the child. The image of blue eyes came back to his mind, though not the ones that caused his grief, but rather the eyes that could calm a storm.

Luna was awoken to pestering of Rabastan Lestrange standing at the foot of her bed. He looked like a mad man, with wild eyes and skewed hair.

"I don't know what to do," He confessed, the declaration seeming to cause him discomfort. His eyes dropped in anticipation of her response.

Sensing how hard it was for him to confess such a secret, Luna simply nodded her head in thought and rose from her bed. "Lead the way."

He brought her to the room with the beautiful child. The baby was screaming, causing her heart to tear. Looking over at Rabastan, she noticed his weariness. She grabbed his large hand, and gave him an encouraging smile. Slowly, she lead him to the crib.

"What's his name?" She asked, reaching her hand down into the crib to stroke the baby's face. He calmed under her soothing touch.

"RJ."

She nodded, and pulled Rabastan's hand to join hers in the crib. It was difficult, but she lead his hand with her own, and soon RJ was cooing under Rabastan's touch.

"May I hold him?" She asked. Rabastan agreed, stepping back to allow her room. He was thoroughly enchanted by the sight before him. She picked up RJ, whispering soft words of encouragement and comfort as she held him to her small chest.

She shifted him so that he would be held on her hip with one hand, allowing her other hand the freedom of movement. She used her free hand to lightly tap RJ's nose, causing the baby to give her the most peculiar look. She did it again, and his mouth began to turn upwards. A few more times of tapping his nose, and RJ was a bundle of giggles and grins.

She smiled down at the baby, and glanced over at Rabastan, who stood in amazement. He had never seen the beautiful child smile and grin and laugh and just be held happily.

Without warning, she held RJ out to him, insistent on him to grab the baby. Panic filled his eyes as he searched her own. She sent him a smile of encouragement. Hesitant, he grabbed RJ, handling him as though he were glass.

RJ looked at him as though he was curiosity. Luna had to hold back a laugh as the males held the exact same expression on their faces.

After a few moments, Rabastan seemed to grow more comfortable and held the baby with more confidence.

"He must look a lot like his mother," Luna said, not really expecting an answer.

"Yes," Rabastan said, glancing down at the baby. "But he has his father's eyes."

Luna took a breath, startled at the revelation. Rabastan noticed her astonishment, unsurprised by her reaction.

"RJ's mother was a muggle. One of the most beautiful women I'd ever seen. Rod couldn't stay away. It's because of Rod that the Department of Magical Preservation was created. When it got out that Rod had an illegitimate, half-blood son, with a muggle no less, everyone started getting antsy. Rod and Scarlet were executed."

Silent tears seemed to well up in Rabastan's eyes as he told the tragic story of his brother. He let out a bitter laugh as he looked down at his nephew. The Dark Lord had spared the child, declaring the senseless spilling of magical blood treasonous. RJ, Rodolphous Junior, was one of the worst kept secrets in the wizarding world. Despite being a firstborn heir, RJ would have no holdings on the Lestrange property in the eyes of the law unless Rabastan declared so himself. However, to do so in such an unrest would be political suicide.

Luna held out her hands and took RJ, sensing Rabastan had grown weary from his thoughts. She put one hand on Rabastan's cheek and gave him a comforting smile. "Come on. Let's go see if we can figure out how to fix him a bottle."

 **April 15, 1999**

Antonin and Hermione grew into a steady routine the next few days. They would awaken and have breakfast together, gradually growing more comfortable in each other's presence, though he their conversations never seeped into learning of background but rather debates or speculation on various issues.

Some days he would be home. Others he would be called off to do work for the Dark Lord. He would always leave with a dark mood, declaring he would let her know if he had to be out all night. When he was gone, she would occupy herself with the shrunken wand she found.

She had been unable to regrow the wand, thus decreasing the wands potential power by half. The wand was also very headstrong, if a wand could be described in such a way. Hermione suspected that its previous owner had possessed that quality as well.

The spells should use with the wand were simple, mostly first year spells. It was a start. She was very surprised he had not realized the wand was missing. Even then, she wasn't a threat with the wand. A common frying pan could cause more damage than the shrunken wand.

If Antonin returned particularly late, Hermione could be found asleep in what had been deemed her reading nook, a book cradled against her chest.

After a few days, Hermione felt as though she would lose her mind if she stayed in the house much longer. She knew she was irritating Antonin every time she sighed whilst he was trying to read what appeared to be a lengthy text that wasn't in English or Russian. Slumped in her reading corner, she found the color of paint covering the wall to be absolutely fascinating.

She sighed again.

Antonin almost growled in irritation. He cursed in Russian, and slammed the book he was reading shut.

"Congratulation, _Yagoda._ You've got my attention."

Hermione smirked in satisfaction at his annoyance. "There are exactly 324 books in your library."

"Then why don't you find one to read?"

"I want to see Luna." She stated in an abrupt manner.

Antonin sighed, knowing he would be unable to escape this conversation. He had been expected to be confronted with this eventually.

"I'll owl Rabastan and see what he says."

Hermione's face lit up at his response, giving her a beautiful glow that he had never had the privilege of witnessing. Realizing her response, she lowered her head and turned away, though he knew she still held her cheeky smile.

Antonin sent Rabastan an owl, which was met with a swift response. Awful as it sounded, he essentially arranged a play date for a girl young enough to be his daughter.

The pair arrived at the gates of Lestrange Manor, waiting for the wards to be lowered. As soon as they were, blond hair met brown as the two girls embraced each other, chattering like birds.

Antonin and Rabastan exchanged glances, unsure of what to do with the scene in front of them. Antonin wasn't ashamed to say that he could feel jealousy at the intimacy and ease of touch the girls shared.

Rabastan guided them to the sitting room, which had been covered with paintings and drawings of an assortment of things. Some were places, such as Hogsmeade and Hogwarts, whilst others were people though Antonin couldn't name most of them. One painting in particular caught his eye. The painting appeared to be a large man, carrying a small woman in his arms.

The chattering of the two girls ceased as Luna walked over to Antonin. She smiled at the painting. "I wasn't sure I would be able to get your features right, so I just left it as more of a silhouette."

Hermione's face grew red, and she turned her attention to anywhere else but Antonin.

"What's this Luna?" She asked, pointing at a random painting that hung closest to her.

Luna looked up at Antonin, mischief in her eyes. "People often use distraction as a way to escape uncomfortable subjects."

Hermione's face burned. Luna simply smiled serenely and walked over to Hermione, explaining the painting.

Antonin made his way over to Rabastan, who held out a glass of whiskey. He took the glass and downed it in a large gulp. Antonin watched his friend's features as Rabastan beheld Luna's presence, a content smile on his face.

"I don't believe I've ever seen you so," Antoin said, pausing for a moment to determine the appropriate word.

"Serene." He finished, giving Rabastan an odd look.

"She's like a breath of fresh air," Rabastan stated, taking a drink. He noticed Luna staring at him, and so he sent her a warm smile.

"Does she know?"

"Yes. He adores her. It's almost like she's his own mother. I was worried at first that she might use him against me or try and harm him, but I know she would rather be impaled by a Horned-Crumpled Snorkack that harm him."

Antonin was about to ask what in the hell a Horned-Crumbled Snorkack was but never got the chance, as he and Rabastan were distracted by the shooting pain in their arms.

"Shit," Rabastan cursed. The girls glanced over at them, concerned at their sudden wincing. Luna took quick strides to make it to Rabastan's side.

"Rabastan?" She questioned, her eyes swimming in concern.

"He's calling," Antonin answered, glancing over at Hermione. "Come here, I'll take you home and then go off to meet him."

He stepped towards Hermione, who stepped back, shrinking into Luna. In that moment, it was as if all the progress that had made in their cohabitation had been for naught, as one could only forget the master he served for so long.

"Could she stay here?" Luna questioned, directing the question towards Antonin. Antonin's eyes scrunched and he hesitated. He wanted to say no, and lock her away back in his home. He knew his wards were too strong to break through.

Rabastan, sensing his friend's abrasiveness towards the idea, put a hand on Antonin's shoulder. "She'll be safe here."

After what seemed like an eternity, Antonin finally shook his head in agreement. Rabastan made towards the door, stopping to give Luna a smile and a gentle kiss on the forehead.

Antonin stopped in front of Hermione, words on his lips though they wouldn't form. His mouth opened, but not words would come.

"Don't do anything stupid," Hermione finally said. Normally, Antonin would have been offended and raged against her warning, but instead he nodded and left. It wasn't exactly encouragement, but it was the best he was going to get for the time being.

Antonin didn't believe he would ever grow accustomed to the Dark Lord's new appearance. He couldn't say which was more terrifying: The monster who looked the part, or the dashing human man who could hold the world in his hands.

If anything, the Dark Lord had grown more arrogant after his rebirth. As he strode into the room, his long, black robes draped behind him. Antonin was reminded of a king. Had it not been for the air of pure darkness emitting from him in waves, most of the Dark Lord's followers would raise an eyebrow at the leader they served and his new appearance.

Followers circled around him, the Dark Lord grinned, his perfect teeth glinting in the candlelight, like a predator standing before its prey.

Antonin glanced around and noticed all that he could see present, save for Macnair. Odd. He met the eyes of Rabastan, though the slight twitch of the auburn-haired man's shoulders told Antonin that he was just as puzzled.

"My followers," The Dark Lord started, stealing every breath in the room once he began to speak. "I am sure you are curious as to why I have called you all so very _short-notice._ "

The Dark Lord seemed to sneer at the last phrase, annoyance radiating off him in waves. The temperature in the room seemed to drop.

"It seems that a few of my followers do not understand the full reasoning behind the Department of Magic Protection." At these words, the Dark Lord pulled his wand from his robes in a blur, forcing the large, ball room doors to fly open. A fearful Macnair was being dragged in by a slobbering, feral Greyback. His face was covered in blood.

A few of the Death Eaters held wide-eyed expressions. Others kept stolid looks. Antonin looked over to see the Nott boy absolutely ill.

"When the law was decreed that you were to take on these women, it was my sincerest intention that you would procreate with them," The Dark Lord seethed, pacing around the room. Despite the fact that he was so outnumbered, he was still the predator circling his prey.

"It's a waste of magical blood when you kill them." At this, the Dark Lord stopped his pacing and stood directly in from of Macnair, a malicious glint in his eyes and handsome smirk upon his face.

"And I do hate to waste useful things. Isn't that right, Walden?" Their lord raised his wand and sent a powerful crucio in the way of Macnair. The man screamed and writhed, wishing death upon himself.

The Dark Lord kept up his curse for over half an hour, forcing each and every one of his followers to take witness. After those painful minutes that lasted an eternity, the Dark Lord ceased his torture and turned to face his blank-faced followers.

"Every one of you is required to take on a bitch. Regardless of how you feel about procreating with filth, the fact of the matter is that there is a lack of supply of pureblood witches. You will choose one, perform a bonding ritual with one, and have children with them. Some of you have already taken this to heart, but some of you," the Dark Lord glanced at Macnair. "Have not realized the purpose of my decree."

"Kill your bitch, and I can assure you I will not be so kind as I was to Walden."

Whispers of 'yes my Lord' were tossed around as they looked upon their cruel master.

"Now, on to the fun," The Dark Lord laughed. "In honor of the anniversary of our victory, we will be having a ball on May 1st on the grounds of Hogwarts. I expect all of my followers to be in attendance, along with their witches. If not, the consequences might be _unsavory._ "

Antonin looked around at his fellow Death Eaters, and suddenly meet the eyes of Hadrian Mulciber. Mulciber winked at him, and grinned at him, his sharp teeth glinting in the light. Antonin narrowed his eyes and turned away, getting lost in his thoughts about how he was going to have to tell Hermione that she would be required to attend a ball that would celebrate the day her life went to shit.

 **January 4, 1969**

"Dammit it all," Rodolphus raged, his normally complacent attitude nowhere to be seen. Rabastan watched as his brother threw objects around the room, careful not to use magic as he was still underage. At ten, Rabastan didn't truly understand the source of his fifteen-year-old brother's rage. He did know that their father had called him to the study earlier and talked to him for over an hour.

"Roddy?" Rabastan questioned, his voice small. Rodolphus stiffened, his erratic behavior ceasing. He looked over at Rabastan and sighed. "What's wrong Roddy?"

"Father wants me to marry," He started, sitting down abruptly on his bed. His brown hair, much different than his brother's auburn, was in complete disarray.

"That's good, right? I mean, you knew we would have to…Right?" Rabastan questioned, not understanding his brother's uncharacteristic outburst.

"He wants me to marry Bellatrix Black."

Rabastan's eyes widened at the name. Bellatrix was a horrible girl. She was loud and rude and cruel. Roddy wasn't anything like her.

"Why would father do that to you?"

"Something about it being my duty." Rodolphus laughed bitterly. "She's utterly awful. Always yelling obscene slurs to muggleborns at school, and raising her nose at everything and everyone."

"Muggleborns? You mean mudbloods?" Rabastan questioned. "We are better than them, right? We're purebloods."

Rodolphus gave his younger brother a sad smile. "At Hogwarts, things are so much different than they are at home and at society balls. You'll learn when you get there. Just promise me one thing, something you can't ever speak to father."

"What is it Roddy?"

"Never discredit anyone based on their blood status."

Rabastan looked at Rodolphus puzzled. His brother was telling him almost the exact opposite of what their father always preached. Blood status was what made someone great.

At the hopeful look in his older brother's eyes, Rabastan let go of his own confusion and decided to listen to him. "I promise."

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	6. Chapter 6

**AN: Long time no see! I'm so sorry for the delay! I'm also sorry the length isn't quite there...However, the next chapter will be rather...enticing ;) Read and Review please! Reviews give me life and inspiration, I swear!**

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 **April 16, 1999**

The sun had already begun to rise when Rabastan and Antonin arrived back at Lestrange Manor. The mischievous women were nowhere to be seen.

Anxiety pooled in the pit of Antonin's stomach when the women were not where they left them. However, he knew she wasn't far. The bond they shared had a peculiar quality of allowing him a sense of comfort when he was near her.

"Found them," Rabastan called, motioning towards one of the various rooms. His lips were quirked up ever so slightly. Antonin followed and peaked his head in the doorway.

Inside the room, which he assumed to be Luna's, lay Hermione, Luna, and the beautiful baby, all sound asleep, ignorant to the darkness that surrounded them.

"I can't say that's a sight I hate." Rabastan whispered, looking over at his companion. Antonin shook his head, though his mind as elsewhere.

"We're going to have to perform a true bonding ritual with them, have children with them, take care of them." Antonin whispered, a heavy sigh escaping his mouth.

"Does that bother you? Is that what's wrong?" Rabastan asked, confused at his friend's apprehension.

"No, not at all." Antonin replied. "I think that's what scares me the most."

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"Dammit Hermione, please be reasonable!" Antonin roared, banging on the doors of library. She had barricaded them quite well, though it was all in vain. If he wanted, he could have blasted the doors to splinters and ordered her to leave the room.

Antonin had decided there was no use in withholding information from her, and decided that he should simply pull the band-aid off quickly. She would have almost two weeks to spew about the ball, and in that time maybe he could have her understand that neither truly had a choice in the matter, despite how distasteful the event was.

"Reasonable?" She laughed, though there was no humor to be found. "You want me to be reasonable? You must be off your rocker!"

She laughed again. He said nothing, though he could feel his temper rising higher.

"You want me to be paraded around like a little circus monkey, pretending I'm some damn pureblood arm candy, at a ball celebrating the day my life turned to piss and shit?"

With that statement, Hermione laughed even louder at her own words, baiting him to respond.

He did.

Instead of blasting open the doors like she knew he could, he gave them a strong kick, pushing the doors wide open. Her laughing ceased. His eyes were red, and he looked as though he could kill. He made his way towards her, swaggering in a way that said he was not to be made a fool for much longer.

She threw her hands up and tried to make her getaway, but he was faster. He wrapped his fingers around her tiny wrists and backed her into the wall. Her mouth ran dry as she felt the anger radiating off of him.

"Now you listen, because I will only say this once. Understand?"

She nodded.

"I have no desire to attend a ball. I have no desire to engage in small talk. I especially have no desire to protect you from the lecherous company that I unfortunately keep. If it were up to me, we'd both be staying home to read in the library. But the Dark Lord has commanded it, and if I weren't to comply I would be punished. And now, _Yagoda,_ my punishments no longer involve just me. You could be taken away and given to the likes of Mulciber or Macnair only to be raped every night and beaten within an inch of your life."

Every word he said held venom, though it wasn't hard to tell that it wasn't directed towards her. In the days she'd come to know him, Antonin had given the impression that he despised his lord almost as much as she did. Almost.

Hermione could formulate no coherent thoughts except for the fact that he smelled like warm spices and firewhiskey.

"So you will attend this ball. You don't have to smile, or laugh, or even dance. You just have to go. Am I clear?" He asked, his warm breath hitting her face. She looked up into his dark eyes for a few seconds and nodded.

He released her. "Good."

As quickly as he had broken into the room, he strode out, leaving Hermione with only one thought: She missed the warmth his body had produced when pressed against her own.

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After her anger passed and her pride was less bruised, Hermione made her way down to the kitchen. Antonin sat at the table, a bottle of firewhiskey in one hand. A case of the bottles sat on the table, and so she took the liberty of grabbing one for herself. He raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

His eyes were tired. His shoulders slouched like Atlas, trying to hold the world. She wasn't sure how old he was, but now he looked years older than she would have ever guessed.

She sat down across from him and popped the bottle open. She took a large swig and allowed the burning liquid travel down her throat. _It tasted the way she imagined his lips would taste._

They sat in silence for a few minutes, neither daring to speak lest they ruin the peace they made. Finally, Hermione cleared her throat and sat her bottle back down on the table.

"They thought you killed me," She said, not looking his way. He didn't answer. "In the Department of Mysteries, I mean."

His expression became thoughtful and his eyes drooped.

"I was on potions for months. God, the pain was awful. Your curse was clever, though I think the one you sent me was defective." She said, taking a swig of firewhiskey.

"They didn't think I would ever be able to have children. Apparently, it had hit a lot of those important organs. I came to terms with it as much as a sixteen-year-old girl could. I mean it wasn't as though I was ready to start a family at that point in my life anyways. I pushed that detail to the side until I thought it was necessary."

Antonin opened his mouth to speak, but a sharp look from Hermione silenced him.

"And then I went on the run with George after the battle. We were both in so much pain. I guess you could say we found a comfort in each other. A few months later, I found out I was pregnant."

Antonin's eyes widened at her revelation. He had no words. Nothing he could say. Shamefully, a piece of rage brewed in his stomach at the prospect of Hermione intimate with another man, though he quickly tried to put those thoughts to bed as he realized how broken of a person she was and how any sort of release was gratifying.

"I was terrified. I was a fugitive on the run. There was no place for a child in my life. But I was happy. I was so happy, and I couldn't understand way. My life was mess, and I could barely take care of myself. But I'd not been that happy in a long time."

She smiled fondly at the memory. It was a potential life she could have had. Her, and the baby, and George could have fled the country and created a new world for themselves. Antonin could see the sadness welling in her eyes like silent tears.

"A week later I miscarried. George never knew."

Hermione finished her story by finishing off her bottle of firewhiskey. Though Dolohov's curse could have been a factor in her miscarriage, Hermione had speculated her body had realized she wasn't capable of a baby. She was already malnourished. And the child would not have survived in the awful world she knew.

"Why did you tell me that story," Antonin asked, his stare unbreaking. Hermione shrugged her shoulders.

"I've got a lot of burdens. I don't think I have the strength to carry them alone anymore." Her eyes, despite being charged with whiskey, were as focused as ever.

She knew now. She knew how much in over her head she was exactly. She could have died long ago and been spared the knowledge that she was comfortable with baring her soul to a demon. He was a man that played a villain in her nightmares, and yet she couldn't resist his smell of spice. The way he ran his hands through his hair. The curl of his lips when he called her some Russian endearment. The way they could sit in silence for hours and nothing would be uncomfortable.

"I wouldn't have done anything different at the Department of Mysteries." He confessed. "I don't regret my actions. Had it not been you, it would have been someone else. I just regret that it was you I hurt."

Hermione let out a bitter laugh and grabbed another bottle of firewhiskey. She was utterly damned. "At least you're honest."

She took a long swig. _She's drunk._

"I don't appreciate beautiful lies. If I could go back in time and hurl that curse at anyone else, I would. I would protect you from this shit world we live in and take you to Russia."

"Russia?" She questioned, raising an eyebrow.

"My homeland. I would teach you the language. We'd live in a remote cottage. You'd stay at home with the dogs and children, teaching them to grow up and be brilliant."

Hermione snorted.

"Do I strike you as a housewife?"

"Not particularly, but I believe that after surviving this living hell you'd be complacent doing anything mundane."

"You're spinning some very beautiful lies, Antonin Dolohov." She raised her bottle to his statement. "To finding Russia."

"To finding Russia," he repeated, clinking his own bottle with hers.

 **July 31, 1998**

They hid in plain sight. Of course, they were concealed beneath glamours and charms to escape the notice of most people. The sight before her reminded Hermione of the Salem Witch Trials that took place in the United States in the 17th century.

The Hogwarts courtyard had been deemed the perfect execution spot.

The executioner arranged the various witches and wizards who were condemned. He kicked them and pushed. Minerva Mcgonagall took the scorn with pride. She held her head and showed no fear.

When Bill was pushed onto the stage, George's hand gripped Hermione's so tight she was beginning to lost feeling. She tried to soothe him by rubbing his hand with her thumb, though it was to no avail.

Soon, all those to be executed were lined up, ready for their fate. Seamus Finnigan didn't even look like the fiery boy she once knew. Kinglesy Shacklebolt looked like a captain, prepared to go down with his ship.

The executioner flipped the switch and the boards beneath them fell.

She had read up on the hanging process. The ropes were short. They would die by strangulation as opposed to decapitation.

Strangulation was more painful.

Some of the victims kicked around.

Hermione scanned the crowd. There seemed to be Death Eaters scattered everywhere, ready for any sort of resistance.

Hogwarts was no longer the wonderful school she had attended. It was now a castle full of ghosts. Their presence was heavy.

Some of the victims had stopped kicking.

She looked over at George. His eyes flitted around, the ghosts getting to him. When Bill stopped kicking, Hermione had to practically drag him away from the somber crowd.

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	7. Chapter 7

**AN:** Hey guys! Its been a while. Sorry for the delay. Life and college got in the way! Anyways, I would love to start this story back up while I'm on break so any reviews would be appreciated. Thank you guys for sticking it out. Also, no flashback this chapter so that's a bummer but I'm pretty proud of this one so I hope that makes up for it! Please review guys! It helps, I swear!

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 **April 17, 1999**

When Rabastan told Luna the words of the Dark Lord in regards to bonding, she looked at him with a thoughtful expression. She held RJ on her hip, bouncing him happily as he grabbed her hair with his chubby hands.

"Did he give you a deadline?" She finally asked, RJ taking a fistful of her hair into his mouth.

"Not necessarily, but I imagine before the ball."

"Ball?" She questioned, unaware of any impending events. Rabastan sighed, rubbing his palms together before taking a seat on the sofa. Luna ceased bouncing RJ and sat him on the floor, prying her hair from his grip. She took a seat beside the older man.

"It's going to be on May 1st. I imagine it's to celebrate," Rabastan stated, before cutting his words short, letting them linger in the air, the atmosphere around them tensing.

"Our defeat?" Luna supplied, her eyes clouded. Green eyes met blue, and Rabastan could swear he could see memories of sadness, and hope, and pain swimming in the blue storm. He nodded his head in affirmation.

Luna made a 'hm' noise, and began to comb through her blond tresses with her fingers.

"You know," She began, her voice distant. "I believe only a handful of people will actually be celebrating the event."

The look she gave him was solid, and packed a larger punch than any she had ever given him. Rabastan chose his next words very carefully.

"Yes, there will be. However, some of us are still tired, and grow wearier the longer we continue to fight." He said sounding cryptic, though in actuality he was taking a shot in the dark. His words seemed to be correct, as she gave him a quick smile.

"I believe it's going to rain tomorrow. We should have our bonding ceremony then." She stated pointedly. With her small hands, she grabbed his larger ones and squeezed. Her hands were cold, but his mother had always said that meant they belonged to a warm heart.

"I thought rain was bad luck," Rabastan jested, his manner more jovial than it had been minutes earlier.

"I think of rain as being a force that clears the path for new beginnings. I always knew I'd be married on a day it rained."

Rabastan grabbed her small hand and kissed it softly. From the floor, RJ began to attempt to lift himself up, almost as though he were about to crawl. His first attempt was horrendous, and he didn't do anything but crumple back to the ground. Instead of crying, however, he laughed. His beautiful curly hair bounced.

The pair continued to watch the baby until he finally managed to crawl to their feet.

Antonin was awoken by the obnoxious pecking of an owl outside his window. His head was pounding. He couldn't remember having a hangover this awful in ages. Sluggishly, he roused himself from the alcohol-induced sleep. There was a weight on his right shoulder.

When he discovered the source of the weight, he swore he was still drunk from the night before, as the sight seemed to defy logic. Hermione was curled against him, her head on his chest, sleeping soundly. Antonin held his breath.

The owl outside his window seemed to grow more obnoxious with every passing second and grew impertinent with its pecking.

He wished the damn bird would stop pecking.

Antonin wasn't sure how Hermione was still sleeping despite the noise. Carefully, he tried to slither away, his movements slow and planned.

He finally escaped the loveseat, and met the bird at the window. The bird seemed to give him an irritated look, if birds could do such things. Antonin gave the bird a sour face, childish as it was, and grabbed the note from the bird's talons

He scanned the letter swiftly, positive he would need a hangover potion and calming potion on hand for when he broke the news of Rabastan and Luna's sudden nuptials to a certain curly-headed woman.

He made his way to the kitchen, his footsteps soft and slow, as every step he took seemed to make his head pound even harder against his skull. A quick glance at the clock told him they had already slept past noon.

He took a quick swig of the ever-handy hangover potion and was almost instantly met with relief. He ran his hand across his face and grimaced, an awful taste in his mouth. He quickly made the decision to rinse off the residue of drinking from the night before.

Hermione woke to a pool of drool around her. The bright window in the room let in all the sunlight with no mercy. She had a fuzzy recollection of a night drinking with Antonin, though could not remember anything after leaving the kitchen.

Slowly, she sat up, her movements slow and painful. She couldn't remember a time she had ever been so hungover. She blinked quickly, her eyes trying to adjust to the awful light. She licked her tongue around her mouth, an absolutely horrid taste being found.

She tried to get off the loveseat, but was unsuccessful as her body met the body of the coffee table. A loud bang shook the house, along with the emitting of the phrase "shit" by Hermione. Her hip bone had nicked the coffee table in an almost perfect way. She had been through hell and back, and yet this hit still brought tears to her eyes.

"Fuck," She hissed, her insult directed to the coffee table she now lay beside helpless on the floor. The sudden opening of a door brought her to attention, to where she was greeted by a wet Antonin.

His towel covered the lower half of his body, but the way it was placed still hinted at the fun that could be found underneath. Water dripped down his bronze body. His chest was covered in tantalizing dark hair. Shampoo remained in his hair, uncleansed, His bearded face was clouded with worry.

"Hermione?" He asked, his concern dripping like the water from his body. "What happened?"

Hermione bit her lip, and slow sat up, her head and hip protesting with every movement. "I got in a fight."

"A fight?" He asked, his tone suspicious. "With who? No one's broken my wards."

Hermione sighed, ready to face the music of her stupidity and moment of lost equilibrium. "The table."

She could see the ends of his beard turn upwards as he tried to hide the amused expression that had quickly formed on his face. In response, she gave a very irritated scowl.

"It's not funny. Do you have something for my head. Ugh it's killing me," She whined.

"I've left a few potions on the kitchen counter. Just don't get in any more fights on your way downstairs," He smirked, very much enjoying the situation.

Immaturely, she stuck her tongue out Antonin, wanting him to know very well what she thought of his jokes. He only smirked even more, if even possible, and left the room, a soapy puddle left in his wake.

"Mmh," She hummed, only after he was gone. However, as soon as she emitted the noise, her eyes widened in surprise at the sound that came from her own throat.

 **April 18, 1999**

"I don't understand how you could just agree to this," Hermione fumed, quite irritated at the wispy girl adjacent from her. Luna, in return, gave no indication of actually paying attention to Hermione, though it would be foolish for one to think she wasn't listening. No, instead Luna was busy braiding yellow sunflowers into her hair to match her bright, gaudy, yellow sundress.

The rain outside the window fell with a consistent, lazy rhythm. It was the kind of rain that caused lovers to curl together in their bed, cuddled against each other's warmth. Luna always knew she would be married on a rainy day.

As soon as she was done braiding her own hair, Luna made her way to Hermione and took the curly hair into her hands. She began to create a delicate braid, weaving small purple flowers in between.

"You act as though I agree with this law," Luna stated patiently. "If we did not get bonded, I would be taken away from here and given to someone else to become a toy. Rabastan would likely be tortured for being too cowardly to commit to a bonding. RJ would likely be killed as well. At the moment, Rabastan is playing all the cards he has just to keep his nephew alive."

"But to just lie down and take this?" Hermione countered, though her heart began to hurt. Her breathing became heavy.

"People I have come to care about could die. An innocent baby. A man who feels more remorse than most would think possible considering who he is. A man who learned exactly what kind of twisted world we live in when he watched his brother be slaughtered before his eyes."

"But to just give up hope?" Hermione asked quietly, halfway hoping Luna didn't hear her.

"Not giving up," Luna said simply, pulling her hands away from Hermione's hair and turning so that they were looking directly at each other. "Simply creating it elsewhere. Rabastan is a good man, and a wonderful father. I know that there is something to hope for because I have witnessed this first hand. I want you to honestly tell me there is not a drop of goodness you can find in Antonin."

Hermione looked away, unable to meet Luna's piercing blue eyes, giving Luna all the answer she needed.

Luna grabbed Hermione's hands. "He is a good man, Hermione. I can just feel it."

Hermione let out a breath she hadn't realized she had been holding, and looked at Luna, a sad smile appearing on her face. "This is so fucked up. I always thought I'd love the man I was to marry. I thought he'd love me. Instead, I'm stuck with a man who has tried to kill me at least twice."

"Hold onto your hope Hermione. You have to cultivate a field before it bears fruit." Luna gave the curly haired girl a soft kiss on the cheek, assuring her that everything would be alright. That was the type of person Luna was: even on her wedding day, she was comforting someone else.

The ceremony was intimate, and wet. The only attendants were the bride, the groom, the baby, the witnesses, and a ministry wizard needed to officiate the event. Luna was a beautiful bride, and despite the downpour, she seemed to radiate a golden light which no darkness could cover.

Rabastan was dressed in his best dress robes of black, which displayed the Lestrange family crest proudly. He grinned like a fool and didn't seem concerned about anything besides the beauty of his bride.

Hermione held RJ on her hip, bouncing him softly as she observed Rabastan and Luna exchange their vows. Beside her, Antonin was dressed in his own best robes, complete with the Dolohov crest. Pureblood tradition dictated that weddings were one of the few occasions when family crests were essential to the attire of the men. He looked very handsome, though Hermione would loathe to admit such a thing. He had attempted to slick his hair back, though it had been for naught as several pieces popped out of place, framing his face. In her opinion, it gave him an untamed, rugged look, as though no amount of primping and preening could remove the wilderness that resided inside him.

Antonin glanced down at the witch beside him, who realized she had been caught staring. She quickly turned her attention back to the happy couple. He smirked and her haste to remove her attention from him.

Luna and Rabastan joined hands, and the ministry wizard stated an incantation. A ribbon of glowing white emitted from his wand and wrapped around the hands of the couple. In bonding ceremonies, the couple chose the types of magic they wanted infused into their bond. White was one of the most common for a marriage, as it signified protection and health.

A second ribbon emitted from the wizard's wand. A brown glowing ribbon. It signified friendship, new beginnings, and strength: another popular for weddings.

A third ribbon sprang forth, this one a sprightly glowing yellow. This ribbon signified prosperity, humility, and happiness. Though not always a common choice for pureblood marriages, as many did not find themselves hopeful in the area of happiness, it was no surprise it was chosen for Luna's wedding.

Antonin once again glanced down at the little witch that was his. Her eyes were wide, the various ribbon colors dancing in their chocolate hues. She looked like a child in a candy store, and held the same expression as the baby on her hip. An expression of wonder.

Finally, the wizards said another word, and the ribbons bound together in the couples' hands, officially proclaiming them as one. Rabastan tenderly grabbed Luna's face with his hands and kissed her with the passion of a man with the world at his fingertips.

Antonin wondered if he would ever know that feeling.


	8. Chapter 8

**April 22, 1998**

Hermione had known it would be coming. She knew that a section of the law included a bonding between the witch and the wizard to whom she belonged. She had stood as witness as Luna's own bonding ritual. However, when Antonin finally uttered the words to her that they would be expected to be bonded, Hermione vomited.

On Antonin.

The expected disgust was there of course, as he had just been vomited on. Yet, another coldness crossed his features as he stood frozen while she fled the scene. It was the same coldness that appeared when someone lashed out once they had been rejected.

It was as though he had assumed that she might not be disgusted at the idea.

Hermione promptly locked herself in her bedroom, tears streaming from her face. She couldn't understand why she found herself so shocked at the notion of being bonded, of being married to Antonin when every road sign in her life up until this point had pointed in that exact direction. She had known. She was too logical to react in such a way.

Yet, her emotional side seemed to take over. She would forever be shackled to a man who had attempted to kill her. A man who's age she wasn't even aware but seemed somewhat near to that of her own parents. This man had left his mark on her body. This man haunted her nightmares. He had killed Prewitt twins in the first war.

Antonin Dolohov was to be her husband.

In the dark recesses of her mind, she wished herself dead. The thought was fleeting, and would not burst into fruition, but it was still there. If she were dead, she would not be forced to face the internal struggle that took place inside herself.

As hard as she tried, she couldn't bring herself to hate the man. He had been nothing but kind to her in her days in his home, and had even gone out of his way to make her comfortable. He sang while he cooked. He had a dog-eared copy of _Pride and Prejudice_ in his study. He wasn't the killer that had haunted her those many nights she lost sleep.

The real disgust that lured the bile from her stomach was the fact that she simply could not hate Antonin Dolohov.

Hermione calmed herself, and crawled under the covers of her bed, despite it being early in the afternoon. Her bed was safe, and warm, and free of confusion. She slid her hand under the pillow and grabbed the shrunken wand. Somehow, just holding the wand gave her comfort. It gave her the feeling that she had a tiny piece of control in her life. She still held a trump card in her deck.

Unbeknownst to her, Antonin had stormed from the house after cleaning himself, in search of a bar stocked full of whiskey.

Antonin had not returned home in hours, and so Hermione lay in bed during the bewitching hours, tossing and turning with a sense of apprehension. She was not necessarily worried per say, but rather concerned and wishing she could explain herself. Explain her reaction.

A cold sweat had formed on her body, and she kicked around in her bed, unable to become comfortable. The normally pleasant mattress felt like a bed of nails, and finally Hermione resigned herself to rising from bed, despite the wall clock near her reading 3:02.

She crept down to the kitchen and sat down at the kitchen table. Perhaps if she waited on him to return, some of her guilt would subside. However, the longer she sat at the kitchen table, the more she realized she did not want him to see her in the current bedwear she wore.

Despite buying her proper sleepwear, Hermione chose to wear a particular dress shirt of Antonin's that she had found in her room, along with a pair of knickers. She couldn't explain why she chose this, and she certainly didn't want to explain to Antonin why she looked like a shacker in her own house.

 _Her House._

The thought startled her, and left an odd taste in her mouth. The logical side of her brain quickly rushed to the rescue, and brushed the notion off as her being in a more permanent setting that she had been in years. If she were being honest, she was somewhat at peace due to the fact that she was immobile. Practicing constant vigilance and always being on the run was exhausting. And her time spent in Azkaban could hardly have been counted as peaceful. This was the first time she had been at rest since the summer before what would have been her seventh year.

A sudden burst at the front door shook her from her musings and she was greeted to the sight of Antonin staggering in, the smell of whiskey accompanying him. He took his time scoping out the kitchen, as though seeing it for the first time. Finally, his eyes landed on her. He blinked a few times as though trying to regain focus, and suddenly a smile burst on his features.

He crossed the room and sat down on the kitchen chair across from her. However, he frowned as he did this and promptly stood from his chair and dragged it across the floor until he sat beside Hermione.

Hermione wrinkled her nose at the alcohol that seemed to seep from his pores, and seemed thoroughly unsurprised at the sight that greeted her. _And I was worried about you, Bastard_.

"Hermione," He said, talking slowly as though testing out her name for the first time. His Russian accent seemed to have gotten thicker, and her said her name in a way that remined her of Viktor Krum, though not nearly as bad. "I went to Rabastan's."

Hermione nodded her head slowly, an impending headache coming on. "I can see that. I wasn't sure when you would be back."

"I was thinking about our bonding ceremony," He continued, his eyes thoughtful. He ran a hand through his beard, and played at the ends of it with his fingers. "And I think I figured out why you don't want to be bonded to me."

Hermione scrunched her eyebrows, somewhat in disbelief at the man. He seemed like the type of man who would grow stoic the more he drank, however the man before her was a man ready to talk for hours. Her father did always say that alcohol was smart: it gave you exactly what you needed.

"It's because I'm old," He finished, not waiting for her to respond. If she had been expecting him to say anything about her apprehension to the bonding ceremony, it certainly didn't involve their age difference. Truly, she could list numerous more reasons why, such as him being a Death Eater, a convicted murderer, her almost murderer, to name a few. Yet, drunk Antonin seemed to believe his age was what stood in the way. In this moment, she could truly appreciate how much he had drowned his frustration in alcohol.

Hermione laughed, the scene comical. "Trust me, our age difference is the least of my worries."

"Come here," He whispered, his eyes big like a child's. He glanced around and leaned in close to Hermione. "I was 23 when you were born."

Hermione giggled at the absurdity of the situation. Antonin seemed to take offense to her laughter, assuming it was about him being old, and promptly pouted at her. She stopped laughing when his lip stuck out, and looked at him thoughtfully.

"It's not as big a difference as I thought, I swear." She stated, and gave him a crooked smile. He seemed to perk up at her news.

"You're not what I expected Antonin. I don't know what's the point in me telling you this, because I doubt you'll remember but you're not how you're supposed to be."

Antonin titled his head like a confused puppy. "I'm not?"

"I had a version of you made in my head from our first encounter, and you're nothing like how I thought you would act at all. And it scares me."

"I promise, _Yagoda_ , I'm not that scary," He affirmed, trying to give her a positive, drunken smile. She smiled back at him, and put a hand on his arm.

"I think you should go to bed, it's been a long night," She said, somewhat forlorn at the promise of the loss of this lively version of Antonin. He nodded his head in agreement. He stood from his chair, and motioned towards the stairs.

"Are you coming too?"

"I'll be there in a minute. I need some time to think." Hermione responded. Antonin nodded once more, and shocked Hermione by placing soft, whiskey kiss on her forehead.

"Don't stay up too late _Yagoda_ ," He said before climbing up the stairs, leaving Hermione with her turbulent thoughts.

 **April 24, 1998**

Their ceremony was rushed. Due to the Dark Lord's order of every Death Eater bonding to a witch, the ministry officials were in short supply due to increased demand.

Antonin had barely acknowledged Hermione's existence in the past two days, besides his drunken night and also asking her to pick bonding magic she would like to be included in their vows. She wasn't even able to tell if he remembered their conversation, however she highly doubted it considering the way her acted.

Bonding magic was one of the most interesting and complex magics Hermione had studied in her various hours of reading. Essentially, the bonding magics used in the ritual allowed the couple to be more susceptible to the effects of the magics used. If a couple were to use a bond that promised happiness, the couple would not always be guaranteed happiness and a smooth ship. However, they would be more likely to find happiness in themselves and their partner. Bonding magic did not guarantee a couple anything. It simply heightened their senses and susceptibility to its effects.

Rabastan had allowed the couple to have the ceremony at Lestrange Manor since Antonin's ancestral home was in Russia. The weather was pleasant, much more pleasant that the couple who would be bonded. The ceremony took place in the ballroom of the Manor, with only Luna, Rabastan, and RJ in attendance. Upon first glance, an observer might have had déjà vu when taking into consideration the ceremony that had taken place less than a week earlier. However, it was obvious the present couple did not have the air of calamity surrounding them like the previous couple.

Antonin wore his best robes which displayed the Dolohov family crest. His hair was neater than Hermione had ever witnessed, though that only made the ceremony seem even faker than it was. She much preferred his wild locks that refused to be tamed. Though it wasn't as though she were one to talk, as Luna had managed to smooth out her hair, which had just started to regain its untamed curls.

Hermione wore a short, red dress with sleeves, so that the horrendous slur on her arm would remain covered. Together, the couple looked like a smart pair. However, everyone could feel the tension in the atmosphere.

The ministry wizard spoke his words and asked that Hermione and Antonin join hands. She placed her dainty fingers inside his rough palms and was surprised at how warm his hands were, sending a shiver down her spine. The ministry wizard droned on, and Hermione did not pay him much focus. Wizard weddings did not include much communication between the couple during the ceremony. Instead, the magic did most of the talking, as the bonding magics used were essentially the vows used.

The ministry wizard soon flicked his wand and the first glowing ribbon appeared, wrapping around the couple's hands. This ribbon was a glowing purple, signifying communication and intelligence. It was a bond Hermione had chosen.

The next ribbon that appeared was white, the basic color chosen for weddings. It signified protection and health, and was traditionally used even if not chosen by the couple. The ribbon wrapped around their hands and soon Hermione felt a comforting warmth rush through her body.

As soon as the white ribbon disappeared, a green one appeared. This was a bond Antonin had chosen, and signified trust, new beginnings, and peace. Once again, the ribbon wrapped around their hands before disappearing.

The last ribbon was the most surprising and not generally used in weddings. It was a ribbon of Antonin's choosing, and glowed a fiery red color. It signified passion and desire. Hermione could feel the heat of the ribbon wrapping around her, engulfing her. It disappeared into their hands, and she could swear she still felt the searing heat of the ribbon in her veins.

The ceremony came to a close and the ministry wizard proclaimed them as husband and wife. Hermione looked up at Antonin, unsure of what the next move was, and was taken aback when leaned forward and kissed her slightly on the lips. While the kiss wasn't long or deep, it still left her a teasing sensation, and increase in the fire flooding through her veins.

The kiss ended much too soon, and her husband was taken from her reach when Rabastan clapped him on the back and offered his congratulations. Luna too made her way over to Hermione, RJ resting happily on her hip.

"You've made such a beautiful bride," Luna whispered, smiling at Hermione. Hermione sent Luna a small smile back.

"All thanks to you. I could never had managed this on my own."

Luna shook her head. "You would have been fine. I know you'll be busy tonight, but I just wanted to know if you'd like to prepare for the ball together. Rabastan keeps insisting the house elves can help me, but I don't want either of us to be alone on that day."

Hermione nodded, a grim look on her face. "Of course. I'll have to ask Antonin, though I don't see why he won't agree."

Luna nodded her head, and turned her attention to the baby on her hip, fingering the soft curls in his head with her dainty fingers.

Across the room, Rabastan gave Antonin a hard stare, as the groom in question had a look of utter displeasure on his face.

"You know you're stuck with her now. You need to make nice with her." Rabastan stated, trying to talk sense into the Russian man. Antonin paid him no mind as he continued to watch his wife. _His wife_. The woman…the child he was to bonded with for the rest of his days. Wizard marriages and bonds were much more complex than Muggle marriages, especially in the way of how the couple is connected. In a wizarding ceremony, the bonding ritual essentially includes the bonding of two souls, and as such no matter what happened, inside of him, traces of _her_ would linger. He would always be able to feel her there, in his soul.

"Hard to make nice when she hates you." Antonin said, turning his back to his best friend and making his way towards his wife, his sour mood growing.

"It's time to go," He said, putting a hand on Hermione's arm. She looked up at him and glared. He gave her a look so icy that she didn't protest, but instead gave her thanks to Luna. She followed Antonin to the floo, and together they left.

As soon as they landed back at Antonin's home (their home?), Hermione was struck with the crippling realization that he might expect them to consummate their marriage tonight. Her body seemed to stiffen as she stood next to him, trying to anticipate his next move. He looked at her strangely, his sour mood seeming to dissipate like smoke. He opened his mouth to say something, and closed it again, the words seeming to stick to his tongue.

"What?" She asked softly, her body still stiff. Antonin let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

"Do you want a drink? I've been completely sober almost all day and I'm not sure I like it."

Those were not the words she had expected, and so instead of replying, Hermione nodded her head and followed her husband into the kitchen. Together they would do what all unhappy couples did: ignore their problems and turn to alcohol.


End file.
